Fifty Shades: Leaving You Behind
by Lulu Price
Summary: After years of marriage, Anastasia and Christian find themselves at an impasse. Hard choices have to be made. Can they make them? Or is their love for each other too strong to leave behind.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my very first fanfic. I've been visiting this site for years and have never had the courage to publish anything. So many of you have inspired me to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and type something. I remember reading a story and an author mentioned how hard it is to hit the publish key. My stomach is in knots as I type this. **

**I wanted to bring something new and fresh to this. It has some themes that have been very popular on the site, but I've included some twists as I go along. I hope you guys like it and I welcome reviews whether good or bad. I'm not aversed to criticisms. Bring it on. I love reading the varying reviews on here. It's now my turn.**

**Oh, before I forget: ****All rights belong to E. L. James,**

******Chapter One**

The sky is a perfect blue, scarce of any clouds. The abnormally warm sun shines brightly above, teasing us with a spring that is still almost two months away. Even though the sky is bright and the sun is warm, it still seems like a cold Seattle day. My mood seeps through my skin and paints everything a dismal gray. It should be a happy time for me, but deep down I know I could never be completely happy without doing what I came here to do. Unconsciously, I draw my jacket closer to my body, hoping it will act as a shield and somehow protect me from the coming storm. No matter how bright the sun's rays are, I can't seem to thaw my blood. It is shivering, more out of fear than any cold weather. How am I going to tell him? What will he do? _Anastasia, stop it. What are you afraid of? Just go inside and tell him. _

Swallowing the lump rising in my throat, I gaze up at the gray edifice standing proudly against the clear Seattle sky. Like its owner, the building stands out even in a sea of high rises housing billion dollar corporations and their over compensated CEOs. At the moment, there is only one CEO tormenting my mind; one that has occupied that spot for a very long time and if he takes my news as badly as I expect he will, I'm sure he'll continue to torment me for a very long time. Looking up at the steel and glass building, I take in a deep cleansing breath and urge my feet forward. _It's either now or never, Ana. You can't keep it a secret for long. _Not that the thought hasn't occurred to me more than once. Maybe I can live a lie. Pretend nothing's happened; everything's the same. Who am I kidding? Christian will know. He always knows when something is off with. Even after all these years and everything that has happened, he still knows me better than anyone.

Walking through the busy lobby, I feel an entire army of eyes on me. I guess this is inevitable. They don't see me as often as they used to and I'm sure there has been a lot of speculation and gossip surrounding my relationship with Christian. I see a few familiar faces, mostly high up executives, ones I've met at company parties and charity events. I give them a courtesy smile and a wave as I make my way past the reception desk and towards the elevators. They've all been very pleasant to me in the past, but today I don't have time for idle chit chat. I have a mission to complete and if I want this to go well, I have to get it over with before I lose my nerves.

Making my way pass the reception desk, I see a young blonde receptionist sitting impossibly straight and proper in a charcoal gray suit. She's on the phone, her brows furrowed. I see Christian has not deviated from his previous taste for icy cold blonds and still hires his female staff straight out of the Stepford catalogue. No doubt I understand this is his way of protecting himself from fucking the help, but I wonder if he knows there are other capable people in the world who are not of the blonde and blue eyed variety. Hmmm…Maybe I'll bring it up during lunch. It could be something to use as a precursor to my news. Maybe not. It'll just rile him up and that is counter-productive to my cause.

"Ma'am, excuse me. May I help you", the cold looking blonde asks hanging up the phone. Her voice is curt, yet professional, much like Christian's. Maybe Grey Enterprises gives a training class on how to sound like a polite asshole.

"No, I'm fine. I'm just heading up to see Mr. Grey", I answer as politely as possible.

Those brows of hers furrow again as she replies "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Grey?"

"No. I don't".

"Well, I'm sorry ma'am. You will need an appointment if you'd like to see Mr. Grey. He's very busy and is booked completely for the entire week". I purse my lips tightly trying to suppress a smile. Obviously she doesn't know who I am. She seems to be fresh out of college, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, quite possibly was only hired in the last year or so. She doesn't know my face or who I am to Christian Grey. For a brief moment, the sadness of her ignorance overwhelms me. There was a time when I was a fixture at the place. Everyone knew me and respected my status as Mrs. Christian Grey. Now, not so much. Pushing that depressing thought in the back of my mind where it belongs, I zero in on little miss Blondie and decide to have some fun.

"I think Mr. Grey won't mind me showing up. I'm .…".

"Ma'am", she interrupts, clearly annoyed. "I can't allow anyone to see Mr. Grey without an appointment. Like I said, he is a very busy man and if you'd like to see him, you will need to set-up an appointment with his assistant".

I look at her, giving her my impassive glare; the Christian Grey stare that I've managed to cultivate from being under its scrutiny. After wielding it like a weapon against my children and a few errant adults, I've surprisingly managed to understand why it's one of Christian most useful form of intimidation. "Why don't you call Mr. Grey's assistant and tell her I'm here. Let her decide". Blondie blinks at me, completely off her game. She recuperates quickly, picking up the phone, a small smirk playing on her lips. She thinks she's gotten me.

"Yes, Andrea. This is Rebecca. There is a woman here to see Mr. Grey. Her name is …"

"Anastasia" I added.

"Her name is Anastasia… Excuse me… No… I..I ..I had no idea… Yes… I understand. I'm sorry…. Of course, Andrea. I'll send Mrs. Grey up right away. Yes, Andrea in the private elevator". It takes all of my strength not to laugh as little Miss. Rebecca scurries from behind her desk and towards me. Her face is ashen, stricken out of fear. Fear that Christian will fire her once he hears about her harassment of his wife. Too bad she doesn't know.

"My apologies Mrs. Grey. I did not recognize you. I had no idea you were Mr. Grey's wife. Please know I did not mean to disrespect you in anyway".

"There's no need to apologize Rebecca. You were just doing your job. I'm sure Christian will be relieved at how thorough you are in your protection of him. I'll be sure to let him know".

"Really? Well thank you Mrs. Grey. I'll show you to the elevator."

"No need. I know my way." I nod my head and walk to the very end of the elevator bank, stopping in front of the private elevator the one leading straight into Christian's lair in the sky. I wonder how long he's been in the office today. Most likely since nine this morning. It's now 11:45 a.m. and I'm almost positive someone has found a prime way of pissing him off already. I hope my showing up unexpected doesn't rattle him too much. Christian hates surprises; especially those having to do with announcements that will change all of our lives forever. I don't know why after everything that has happened, I still allow Christian to have this power over me. So much has changed between us and yet despite that fact, I'm terrified of what he'll say. What he'll think. _Fuck! Anastasia, get a grip. _

As the express elevator arrives and I step in, I can't help but to think about the same journey I had taken in this very same elevator twelve years ago. So much have change since that fateful day and yet so much has stayed the same. I've married this man and carried his children. Loved him, hated him. Laughed with him and fought bitterly against him. But yet, inside, no matter how much I try to deny it, Christian still has a profound effect on me. I find that I still wilt just a little beneath his stare and when he decides to be the Christian I fell in love with, he still has the power to bring me to my knees before him. Today will be different, though. I will not allow him to intimidate me and bully me. I won't allow him to affect me with that smile that is still boyish and shy, even after all of the harden years we've spent together. I will not succumb to his charms; I will not capitulate to his whims. I will be strong.

As I watch the elevator doors open, I take a quick breath and try to summon my Anastasia smile, the one everyone tells me is endearing and sweet. I don't know what they're talking about, it's more like my nervous as hell smile. Either way, I plaster it on my face and step into the receiving area of Christian's vast office, where I'm greeted by his longest running assistant, Andrea herself. I don't know how this woman has worked for Christian as long as she has without pushing her boot up his ass. I know he pays his staff an obscene amount of money to be at his beck and call and to put up with his verbal and sometimes physical abuse. But no matter how much money he offers, I don't think I could've worked for him as long as Andrea has. _You've done it for years for little to nothing,_ my subconscious jabs at me. Shut up, you stupid cow. I don't need you niddling at my confidence and I didn't stay with him for little to nothing, thank you very much. The man did give me some of the most mind numbing orgasms almost every single night. _Yeah and look where that has gotten you. _Touché. God I hate that bitch.

"Mrs. Grey… Ah.. I mean, Miss," Andrea flutters nervously. "I sincerely apologize for Rebecca. She's fairly new."

"Please Andrea, you can call me Anastasia and there's no need to apologize. Rebecca was only doing her job. It was no inconvenience. Is Mr. Grey available?"

Andrea blinks at me, "Ah, he's currently in his office with someone. I tried to let him know you were here, but he hasn't picked up".

"Oh," I reply simply. My subconscious rears her head to points out something cruel and unwarranted, but I shut the bitch down before she could get her nasty little thoughts any further in my head. "I'll just wait out here until he's finished."

"Ah… You know Anastasia, you can wait inside the conference room for him. It's much more comfortable."

"No, I'm fine with waiting out here, thank you."

"Very well then. Would you care for a beverage while you wait?"

"Yes, some water please, Andrea."

"No problem."

Taking a seat on the white leathers chairs situated directly in front of the massive double doors leading into Christian's domain, I let my mind wonder back in time and it's almost laughable how similar today is unfolding. I was so nervous and unsure of myself back then, much like I am now. The only difference is my young twenty-one year old self had no idea what was waiting for her behind those doors, but my thirty-three year old self knows all too well what is lying in wait for me. I cringe at the prospect. Christian's bad temper has gotten a lot better since then. He's calmed down a lot, mostly due to my ultimatums and his want to continue some kind of relationship with me. But I haven't fooled myself. Thirty-three year old Anastasia knows that no matter how many therapy sessions he has, Christian Grey will never be nullified. For the past five years he's only been a subdued version of himself, tranquilized with ultimatums and guarantees that if he doesn't rein in his unbearable temper and control freakery, he will find himself completely excommunicated from my life and quite possibly that of his children. My only hope is that, he remembers that after he hears my news.

"Here you go, Anastasia", Andrea says placing a refreshingly cool bottle of water along with a glass filled with ice on the coffee table in front of me. "I will try to ring Mr. Grey again."

"As long as it doesn't get you in trouble, Andrea. I know how Mr. Grey can be."

"It's no trouble. Mr. Grey would want to be notified that you're here. He should be wrapping up momentarily". She walks back to her desk and proceeds to read something on her screen. She begins to type furiously, a slight flush reddening her face. I wonder who she is conversing with. Is it Christian? As the thought leaves my mind, Andrea looks up at me and for a brief moment, a look I can't place cracks her professional demeanor. A long passed feeling grips my belly and my subconscious awakens and slithers back into my head. _Go ahead, ask her. You know it's killing you. Who is he with? What is he doing in there?_ The bitch is right. I do want to know. Who does he have in his office? No, no… That's not why you're here. Let's not go down that road again. You know what will happen if you do. Maybe I should just leave and come back when he's free. _Chicken shit. You're such a looser, Anastasia. _I know I am, but only when it comes to Christian Grey. Feeling my nerves deflate, I sigh and rise from the chair.

"You know, Andrea. If Mr. Grey's meeting is business related, I don't feel comfortable taking his attention away from it. Maybe I should come back later."

"Ah… Well..", she glances nervously at Christian's door. "Since I don't know necessarily how long he'll be, if you have somewhere else you need to be, you can go ahead and I'll call you when he's finished. I'll make sure he's completely free for a couple of hours."

I know I should go. I know I should. Nothing good can come from me sitting outside his office all afternoon wondering about what's going on behind those closed doors or why his assistant can't seem to reach him? No matter how much I know I should go, I cannot leave. I don't know if it's just morbid fascination or I'm hoping to find absolution or some justification for the choices I've made, but I resign myself to the fact that I will face him today. I will stay.

"No. I'll stay. I have something very important tell him and it can't wait for another day."

Andrea blinks at me "Sure". She looks to her screen and again that red flushes her face again. She begins to type and then she looks up. "Mr. Grey is finishing up, Anastasia". I know her expression is transmitting something to me. Something I should be picking up on, but my mind has transferred back to fall day in October five years ago, almost one month after my birthday. That same feeling pulls at my gut and wrings it dry. It slithers up my heart and clenches it tightly. Bile rises up my throat, I cover my mouth, attempting to swallow it back. Not saying a word, I turn from Andrea, running around the corner and barging into Christian's private bathroom on the twentieth floor; the one only he is allowed to use. My mind is in a free fall as it imprisons itself into the hellish nightmare from the past. No. I don't want to go back there. That was a long time ago. So much has changed for me. _Has it? You're still the weak, naïve girl. Look at you? You're so weak, you can't even accept the truth when it's staring at you. You'll never be enough. You weren't enough for Christian; you won't be enough for anyone_, she screams at me. I hate her. I hate her so much, but as much as I hate to admit it I know she's telling the heartbreaking truth. I'm not enough.

My empty stomach heaves out what little courage I have left in me. I feel weak, both mentally and physically. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body, making me feel hot and cold all at the same time. Stumbling out of the restroom, I splash a little cold water on my face and wipe it with a towel. I look flushed and not in a good way. Red blotches pepper my face, reminding me of a teenager with acne. I need some make-up.

With trembling hands, I apply a fresh coat of powder, blush and a little mascara before rinsing my mouth out and retouching my lip gloss. I brush out my hair, smoothing out the loose auburn waves cascading around my shoulders. There. I'm back to looking like a human again. Looking at myself, I try not to notice the weight I've gained and how tight my favorite skinny jeans have gotten. The black blazer, hides the contour of my ass and luckily the silk cream blouse is baggy enough to hide my widening hips. I hope he doesn't notice. Who am I fooling? Christian notices everything.

Timidly, I walk back to the receiving area afraid of what I might see. Thankfully it is empty.

"Mrs. Grey, are you alright," Andrea asks, concern clearly etched on her face.

"Yes, I'm fine. I haven't been feeling well lately. I'm just going take a seat and wait."

Just as my behind hits the chair with a thud, the door to Christian's office opens up. My breath is in my throat unable to come out and my nails dig into the palms of my hands as a petite African American woman walks out first. Her slender frame is covered in an expensive crème colored pants suit that drapes her body as if it was made specifically for her. Her glossy bob flutters against her chin, showing off her long slender neck. She swipes away the subtle bangs whispering against her sharp brown eyes that quickly roams around the office space and lands on me before quickly settling on ground. Christian is behind her, walking out in that walk, I know so well. His shoulders are square, his face lacking emotions, his lips pursed. Still after all these years, his beauty and unforced sexiness still floors me. His face is still young, even though he is pushing forty. Besides a few sprinkles of gray hair at his temple, his hair is still a dark copper color, so much like my Teddy's. And that body, my god that body is still hard and contoured as the day I'd met him. I know he still runs his usual five miles per day and still works out diligently with Claude Bastille, his trainer. It is a shame how time hasn't affected him. I wonder sometimes if we are all destined to get old, fat and gray while he only gets more handsome and younger as the years past. Maybe it is God's way of making up for the harsh beginning he's had as a child. Perhaps his monetary fortune and eternal youth are reparations for his inability to form long lasting human connection easily. No matter how much he tries, basic human emotions that we take for granted, doesn't come easily for Christian. It is a constant effort. He's overcome some of them, but others, he's been unable to reach.

Watching them glide slowly across the foyer, I wait silently for him to look at me and show me something, but he doesn't. He just walks past me, leading her to the elevator. He must have called it to the floor before he left his office, because just as they reach in front of it, the doors immediately slide open. In spite of the six inch Louboutins she's wearing, she glides in effortlessly and turns around with a small smile or smirk on her face.

"Miss. Bishop, thank you for coming. I will e-mail you the changes later today. If you have any further questions, please contact me and we'll amend".

"Of course Mr. Grey. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, _Sir_", she says as the elevator doors close between them.

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**Well, there you go. I hope you guys liked it. I will be posting another chapter later tonight EST or sometime in the morning. I already have a few chapters done. Please review and let me know what you think. I just threw up.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: WOOOW! Thank you all so much for the support and great words of encouragement. Since I've popped my cherry with the first chapter, this second one is not as distressing. Thanks to all the people out who have reviewed, followed and added this story. You guys are awesome. I've gotten so many reviews and PM's from people who are not afraid to say what is on there mind. Please let it out. My goal is to produce a story that we can all debate civilly. **

**Now that I've thanked all of you, let me put some of you at ease. This NOT a cheating story. Although I love to hate them and have followed each one of them, I can't anymore with them. My belly drops everytime I see one in my in-box. I read them instantly, but it sometimes can be so depressing. Don't get me wrong, there are some pretty awesome stories out there. But I'm just not a believer. I am of the mind-set that Christian is too obsessed with Anastasia and she is as dependent on him. I know the first chapter may seem as if the story will be heading that way, but it isn't. If only their troubles are as simple as Christian not being able to keep it in his pants. Please be rest assured, we won't go down that path. Their issues have more to do with Christian's possessive controlling ways and Anastasia growing into her own. The story starts off, five years after the start of their issues and then we you will get some flashbacks next chapter. I was going to do the story completely in APOV, but decided just a minute ago that we need CG. Well, thanks again and please keep your reviews, good or bad or constructive coming. I Love them!**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

My scalp prickles. I've heard those words said to so many during the course of my life, and they have never stood out to me. When it is said to Christian Grey in my presence, a fire storm of emotions swirl inside me, ready to explode. It is a word intended to show respect and deference, but coupled with him it contorts into a different meaning; changing into something insidious, destroying everything I've ever loved or valued. Even after five years, I still cannot say that word without some sort of shadow casting over me. Today, without it leaving my lips, I am cast under a sweltering shadow, weighted down by something I thought I'd gotten pass. The sun has faded and all that is left is a cold chill. _No, don't let him see that you're affected. This is about you, Anastasia. Be strong._ Yes. I need to be strong. Christian doesn't hold all the cards. He has no power. I need to take charge.

As the elevator closes between them, I decide to ignore the burning in my gut and take control of the situation. "Christian", I call with a strength in my voice I don't feel. He turns around, serving up that boyish grin. He knows it still has an effect on me. But not today. He's using it as a way to disarm me, and it only provokes my ire. He knows that I know what he's been up to.

"Anastasia, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. If I'd known you were coming, I would've cleared my schedule. Are the kids alright?" Oh no you don't. I'm in control. I think.

"Yes, they're fine. I was just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by to discuss some things with you. Maybe take you out to lunch".

He smirks, cocking his head to the side. "You? Take me out to lunch?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Is that weird?"

"No, Mrs. Grey." I tense at the title. "It isn't." He leads me towards his office and steps to the side to allow me in first. Just as my feet falls over the threshold, the heel on my left boot catches on to something and I feel myself thrown off balance. Fuck, really God? Before I can touch the ground, strong hands grab my shoulders. I look up into smoldering gray eyes and I know he feels it too. That feeling of being transported back in time. That electric charge that always envelopes us, pulling us together. If only electrical charges were enough.

"Mrs. Grey, you're beginning to make this a habit", he says, a smile playing on his lip. I push him away, readjusting my blazer.

"Or you need to fix that damn thing. I maybe clumsy… at times, but it's obvious you have a faulty entry way. I'm sure it happens to a lot of people."

"No.. Just you."

"So, you mean Kerry Washington made it in here, all on her own, in those shoes without falling on her ass. I'm impressed.". Oh fuck! Stop it Anastasia. Now he knows you're bothered. He stares at me. The smile is gone, but a sliver of amusement is still on his face. He's trying so hard not to show how pleased he is with his self, but I know he is. He knows I still care.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand", he feigns. You know damn well what I mean.

I casually sit on the long leather sofa on the far right side of his office. I stare at him as he takes the seat directly in front of me. The same seats. Different couches and chairs, but the set up is the same as it was twelve years ago. Besides swapping out the old furniture for new and more modern ones, Christian's office hasn't changed much. The Troutons are still displayed neatly on his wall. His large desk still stands grand as ever, housing an insurmountable amount of paper work. It still looks like a megalomaniac, control freak's office. The only difference that shows how much Christian's life has changed since we've met, are the mini children's table tucked neatly in the far corner to the right of his desk and two large water color canvasses that Teddy and Phoebe had made for him for father's day. "Anastasia?"

"Yes… Sorry. What?"

"Care to elaborate on your comment."

"It seems your taste has varied a lot Mr. Grey. I thought you were a man who liked what he liked for specific reasons".

He sits up straight in his chair and tilts his head to the side, his forefinger rubbing aimlessly across his bottom lip. He smiles, "I've found after almost forty years, variety maybe the key to life. One should venture out of their comfort zone after a while, don't you agree?"

"It depends on the reasons for such a venture. I hope it's for the right reasons".

He serves up that boyish grin again. "I'm pretty sure you didn't come all the way downtown to talk about my tastes. You said the children are fine. Is everything alright with you?"

"Yes, I'm great actually. Are you free for lunch or no? I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and I'm starved".

He swallows, hiding his recrimination. I know he wants to lecture me on my eating habits. God forbid I miss a snack in between breakfast and lunch. "I had Andrea free up my schedule for a few hours. What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't care, you pick".

Wringing my fingers, I hide them in my lap, hoping he doesn't see how nervous I am. I'm trying to hold on to my nerves, depress my anger and remind myself that I am not as easily cowed as I was a few years ago. I've grown, matured a lot and as much as Christian would like to keep the upper hand in our relationship, he no longer has it. I'm in charge, gaddam it.

"Andrea, please book a reservation for two at Le Petite. Yes. No need. It's just across the street. We'll walk". He stands, extending his hand to me. "Shall we, Anastasia?" I hesitate for a bit, not wanting to take his hand. I can tell myself as much as I want that my hesitation is a protest against his charms, but the simple truth of the matter is that I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what has always laid dormant in the back of my mind, teasing me, tempting me with its possibilities. What if? What if this could all be fixed? What if we could go back to what we were? _Stop it. Don't let him do this to you. Take his hand and show him that you're over him._

Ignoring my fears, I take the proffered hand, placing my smaller one in his, allowing him to assist me to my feet. I grab my bag following him as he leads me towards the door. "Let me assist you out".

I stop in front of him, giving him my Christian glare, "I think I've got it, Mr. Grey". Walking through the door, I take careful, steady steps, making sure I don't find myself sprawled out on the floor with Christian's maddening smirk hovering over me. Once I've made it over the threshold, I wave goodbye to Andrea, thanking her for her patience. "You know, you really kept me waiting a long time. Poor Andrea didn't know what to do with me. She was trying her best to avoid a scene. You should give her a raise".

"Again, I'm sorry for that. If you had called, I would have made the time for you".

"Hmmm.. .. You were in your office for quite some time. What on earth were you doing in there?" He looks at me, shifting his weight from his right leg to the other. The elevator comes and he guides me inside before taking up the space next to me. As usual, whenever we are in close proximity to each other, the electrical charge that seems to follow us everywhere, swerves and loops its way around us, binding us together. The shock of it goes straight to my lungs and it wipes out my breath. He is so close, our shoulders grazing against each other as he turns and looks down at me. I don't look up at him. I keep my eyes trained on our reflection in the chrome elevator doors. I see myself and I am scared. My lips are parted slightly and there is a flush in my cheeks that inch all the way down my neck. His features are a combination of smoldering heat and cool impassivity if there is even such a thing. I hate that he can be so cool and unaffected, when inside I feel as if there is a churning pot of hot lava, lapping against my organs, burning and eating away at every form of resistance.

"Do you really want to know, Anastasia?" I hate when he says my name like that. The authority laced in it, sends me back to that "Room" and back to a time when it was our place - A time when I had exorcised the ghosts of his past and had created a new intimate place for us to glutton in our passion for each other. _You have to look at him. You have to show him that you have moved beyond him._

Forcing my eyes to meet his grey smoldering ones, I swallow, fighting the grainy feel in my throat. "No, I don't. It doesn't matter to me anymore".

"It's so strange. Even after all this time, all that has happened, it's still there between us. What is it about elevators, Anastasia? Or better yet, what is it about elevators, whenever you're along for the ride?" He raises his hand and places it on my chin, pulling my bottom lip from the grips of my teeth. Tugging on my bottom lip has become the international sign for Christian Grey is worked up and ready to pounce. This elevator space is getting to small too fast.

"Maybe it's the possibility of a freefall. The fact that at any minute, the cables can snap and we would fall to our deaths. Why not have a last go before you're splattered to pieces?"

He laughs, "Only you could come up with an answer like that. No, Anastasia. It's more than that."

"No, I don't think so".

"Perhaps".

The rest of the ride is quiet and the walk across the street to the restaurant is even more so. Besides being stopped by Ros, who I haven't seen since Teddy's birthday, we managed to walk out of the building without so much as an incident. Rebecca waved to me right before we left, I'm sure she won't forget my face anytime soon. Although, after today, I doubt I will be making anymore impromptu visits to Grey House ever again.

As we walk into the Le Petite, Christian is immediately greeted by the Maitre D. From the look of things, it seems as if he is a frequent diner because we are escorted to the back of the restaurant and immediately seated at a table with a cold bottle of his favorite wine waiting for us. I wait patiently as the waiter pours a sample for Christian to taste and proceeds to fill our glasses once he's given his approval. He hands us the menus and quickly leaves.

As my eyes scan the menu, it doesn't connect with my brain. I'm very tense. I feel as if my body is tied into a proverbial knot. My only hope is that after I unburden my soul, it will loosen itself and then I can go back to being normal again.

"Is there something wrong?" Christian asks interrupting my thoughts. I look up at him with a questioning look. "You're concentrating very hard on the menu. You're "v" is showing," he states, pointing to my forehead." Of course he would notice.

"I don't know what to get. Why don't you decide for me?" The thought that perhaps this is the last time he decides anything for me doesn't escape me at all. He gives me that boyish grin and again I have to mentally slap myself.

"Fine". He motions to the waiter, who is loitering close by. "We'll have one goat cheese and pear salad with a French onion soup. I will have the grilled Salmon with whatever vegetables you have".

"Certainly, Mr. Grey".

"You must come here often", I say after the waiter has collected the menus, leaving us to ourselves.

"On occasion. I've had a view business lunches here. The food is good. They have an above average wine cellar".

"Yes, of course. Let's not forget about the wine cellar", I retort making an elaborate show of rolling my eyes. Why I did it, I'm not sure. But if I'm truthful to myself, I have to admit a tiny part of me wants to rile him up. To prove to him that he no longer has any authority over me and if I want, I can roll my eyes at him as much as I want without the threat of an itchy palm. He squint his eyes at me, flexing his right hand on the table. We continue to stare at each other in some kind of stand off. His face as usual is closed, but his eyes are burning with myriad of emotions. I'm sure that palm of his is on fire, twitching away with no possible respite insight. Yes, Mr. Grey, I just rolled my eyes at you and there is nothing you can do about it. Ha! _Oh,_ _don't pretend as if you didn't like it, _my subconscious interrupts me._ I'm sure you miss it. Is that why you rolled your eyes at him? Play your cards right and I'm sure he'll squeeze you in right before he sees his new submissive. _God I really do hate her.

"Despite what you think Mrs. Grey, it's still not beneath me to correct that bad habit of yours."

"Ha", I scoff. "I don't know what mean by "correct" because you don't have the right to correct my behavior bad or otherwise any longer."

"Good point well made. But as you know, things always have a habit of changing, Mrs. Grey". How does he do that? I came into Grey House feeling sure that I had made the right decision; that I had thought about this long enough and have come to the right conclusion. I make a show of asserting myself by throwing his lack of control and propriety over me. And yet, sitting here, listening to him voice the one thing that I've harbored in my heart, I feel my determination falter.

"Christian, don't", I swallow. My stomach tightens again and the lump is right back in my throat.

"Don't what, Anastasia?"

_Go ahead. Do it before you lose your nerve. He'll find out sooner or later anyway_.

"Don't, call me that. Don't call me Mrs. Grey."

He scowls at me, "It's your name isn't it? Last time I checked, your name was Anastasia Grey."

'

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about Christian," I pause. _You can do this, Anastasia. _Can I? Can I really do this? Can I tell him my decision? Can I tell him why I've decided this? _Yes, you can, s_he says to me. Her voice is so clear, so much stronger than it has ever been. She pushes me forward. "We need to end this, Christian. We've been in limbo for a very long time. We need to end the separation and sign the divorce papers."

There, I've said it. It's done. It's out there in the open, ready to be accepted. I've sat with this thing in my belly for two days. I expected to find some relief now that I've said it to him, but there is no relief to be had. The truth is, I feel gutted, ripped open and the shock of it is overwhelming.

I wait for Christian to respond. His face is drained of all color as he sits in front of me as still as a statue. Except for the small twitch in his jaw, I would've thought he was in a catatonic shock. But he is still in there, staring at me, lost in his emotions and for the first time in a long time, I lower my gaze from his.

The silence is killing me. I just want him to say something. I want him to yell, throw something. Anything. "Christian.. I".

"What has changed, now?" He finally asks. "What's happened since the last night we saw each other?"

"Christian…", I whimper. "It's been so long since we've been separated. We're living separate lives".

"Anastasia, be honest with me. Tell me".

_Do it._ "He's asked me to marry him. James wants us to get married and I've made up my mind. I'm going to say yes".

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**Thanks again for taking the time to read my story. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: Sorry for the false post. This site can be confusing to navigate at times. First I want to say, I'm sorry for the late update. It's Thanksgiving here in States and it's been a crazy week. Secondly, thank you to everyone who has left a review, followed or faved my story, it means a great deal. Also, I wanted to take the time to say something. I've read the same thing on other stories and now I find that I must say it. There are a lot of people who've left reviews and I would like to answer your concerns or clarify some misunderstandings. But I can't. You're guests. So the only thing I can say is that, I hope of your concerns will be answered in the coming chapters.  
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**A few days ago, my skin kind of got a little thin and I placed a warning on my story. It was my time of the month ( I know TMI) and I was a little sensitive. A guest by the name of Eliza kind of called me out and reminded me that I did encourage feedback, whether good or bad. So, yeah. That wasn't cool of me and I take it back. Also, believe me, this story hurts me as much as it hurts some of you A & C fans, but I wanted to expand on their relationship and put a realistic spin on it. I can't imagine things would be all continuous hearts and flowers for these two, especially since they married and had children so quickly. A few of you brought up a point on my theory of this not being a cheating story. I believe if two people separated and come to an agreement to see other people, it's not cheating. Some people, like my in-laws remained legally married even though they've both led separate lives. Messy, I know. But it does happen. I don't want to get into it too much. I want it to unfold the way I envisioned. If you need me to put your minds to rest, you can PM me and I'll give you a little spoiler.  
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**Sorry for the long A/N. **

**Oh.. These are E.L. James characters. This is just my way of projecting my shit. Enjoy... and please review. I'll take it this time.. I swear.  
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**Chapter Three**

_Five years earlier….._

I look in the mirror, turning from side to side, giving myself a once over. Since giving birth to both my children, my body has gone through some subtle changes. Nothing dramatic, just a little extra padding to my hips and bottom, making them more rounded and soft. At first, I was a little self-conscious about my changing figure. I've always been on the slender side, so it was a shock to my system when all of the baby weight did not drop off immediately and my body didn't snap back to my usual size two and had to step up to a six. A big part of me feared Christian would be repulsed by my body and not find me attractive anymore. But he assured me that the added softness, only made our sex all the more exciting because he can now fuck me as hard as he wants without fearing I would break. Now, I'm honestly happy with my new curves. My clothes fits a lot better and for the first time in a long time, I actually feel sexy.

That's why I chose the black Donna Karen dress tonight (A.K.A the slut dress.) I'd bought it for our honeymoon, right before I became pregnant with Teddy. It had hung loosely from my body and was rather ordinary to say the least. But now, after giving birth and breastfeeding two kids, it is anything but ordinary. It is insanely tight, accentuating every curve and mound. My breasts pours out of the low neckline lasciviously, almost bordering on obscene and for that reason alone, it is Christian's favorite dress as well as his most hated one all at the same time. It has been designated for his eyes only and tonight his eyes will feast.

Tonight needs to be perfect. A lot of planning went into it and if everything goes as planned, we'll both be very happy at the end of the evening. The house is empty, both kids are with their grandparents, Carrick and Grace; most likely in a sugar induced coma by now. They'd picked them up right after school and promised to keep them all weekend so Christian and I can have some much needed time alone. With Christian always working on some deal that takes him away from me and the demands of having two very active children, we haven't been able to make as much time for each other as we would like. We've tried our best; sometimes I would drive myself downtown and surprise Christian with an impromptu visit. He'd take me out to lunch and then we'd head back to Escala for an intense session in the Playroom. He's always loved those visits. Especially when a deal is stretching his patience and he's in need of a release. Other times, he'd surprise me with a night on the town and some really great, uncomplicated vanilla sex.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen a lot. Our nights have become more of a routine and I have to say, sometimes, it's frustrating. I've come to realize that in a marriage, no matter how much passion you have for each other, when you have a workaholic spouse and a five year old that refuses to sleep in her own bed, spontaneity just isn't a luxury you can afford.

I've given Gail the night off and I've asked Christian to release Jason as soon as they get home so he and Gail could enjoy the rest of the evening as well. Sawyer is on duty at Bellevue with the kids and as much as I would've loved to give him the night off, I know it is nonstarter with Christian. I really like Sawyer, but I can't waste any of my capital on getting him the night off. I need it all for myself, especially for what I need to speak to Christian about.

I love my life. I love my husband, my children and the family that was created out of the deep love Christian and I have for each other. My one true pleasure in life is seeing Christian with our children. The way he's taken to fatherhood so seamlessly, has gone way beyond my expectations. Naturally, I'd expected some timidity, some uncertainty. Despite my continuous affirmation of his ability to love, Christian still doubted his capability to be a good parent. But that all changed once Teddy was born. He'd taken to fatherhood so effortlessly, that when he voiced his desire to have another child as soon as possible, I could do nothing but appease him. How could I deny him, when his love for our son was so genuine, so pure? I agreed to have another baby and in turn, Christian and I also came to the decision that it would be best for our children if I would take a leave of absence from Grey Publishing until the children were both in school. _Agreed to? Don't you mean he demanded, forced you, guilt you into taking that leave._ Ah, no. Yes, we'd fought bitterly over it. But in the end we compromised. I agreed to stay home and care for our children and he unequivocally promised to sign the company over to me once Phoebe was in school.

For the most part, I was happy with our compromise. I've watched my little family flourish and thrive before my eyes. But sometimes, when the children are asleep and Christian is in his study working, I find myself alone in the library with a bitter twitch deep in the back of my brain. My thoughts would go back in time, before Christian, before the marriage, before the kids and I would begin to feel the acidic burn of resentment threatening to contaminate me. What happened to what I wanted? What happened to Ana? Before they can take over, I would quickly clamp down on the poisonous thoughts, unwilling to engage; afraid of where it might take me. I have to admit my thoughts sometimes scare me. I calm my nerves by telling myself that Christian is a man of his word. All I have to do is wait. And If I know my husband as well as I do, he'll keep his side of the bargain. _So you think he'll keep his end of the bargain, eh? _Yes, I do. And I know just how to do it.

Tonight, I'm using all of my resources. I find Christian is more pliable and easier to handle after a good meal and a substantial amount of wine. Once we've eaten, my plan is to take him to the bedroom and give him the full VIP treatment with the whole bells and whistle. I snuck off to Escala last week and brought bag some of our favorite toys. The flogger, two vibrators and a medium size butt plug; just the regulars.

Moments like these, I really wish Christian had listened to me and asked Elliott to build us a private room off our bedroom, one that could be used as a make-shift "Red Room" for nights like these. But he'd forcefully objected, lamenting that he didn't want any of that shit in the same house as his children. That's one of the reasons why we'd kept Escala. We'd told everyone we'd kept because of all the memories, but truth is we kept it because of the "Room".

It was my original plan to head there tonight, but as I thought about it, I felt that being home would help to keep Christian comfortable and in check. I'm not fooling myself. I know my husband. I know no amount of seduction will make him agree to anything he's isn't open to. I just need to be open and honest with him. _Then why all of the bells and whistle? If he's so easy to talk to, just come out and tell him without all the games. _ Because, you nosey bitch, Christian loves the bells and whistle and so do I.

Just as I put on my sky high fuck me pumps, I hear my name being called downstairs. Christian is home, right on time as usual. I glide downstairs slowly, walking as seductively as possible. My hair is a mass of waves flowing around my shoulders and I hope I'm pulling off my intended seductress look. I stop midway and watch as my husband's eyes roam all over my body. He gives me an appreciative smile and beckons me. My body moves instinctively, obeying his command without hesitation.

"Mr. Grey, you're prompt as always", I say walking slowly to him. I step in front of him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Even in six inch heels, I still have to stand on the tips of my toes to give him a kiss on his lips.

"When my wife tells me she's home alone and in need of some company, I can do nothing but make myself available to her", he pronounce pulling me against him, inhaling deeply. "Mrs. Grey, your scent is amazing. If only I could bottle it up and carry it around with me all day. Then I won't miss you so much".

"If you miss me so much, maybe you should spend less time acquiring companies and more time at home with me and your overactive children." I try to keep my voice light and playful, so the truth of my words doesn't kill the mood. His hours at work have become one of our most contentious topics and since the menu is already peppered with volatility it seems futile to add another.

"Speaking of said overactive kids, when will they be back?" He ignores my comment, refusing to engage.

"On Sunday. Sawyer will bring them home in the morning. So you have me all to yourself", he pulls me to him, nibbling on my neck. "Ah, ah, ah, first things first, Mr. Grey. Come, I have a chilled glass of your favorite wine and a mighty good meal waiting for you". Taking his hand I lead him to the terrace. The night is warm, but cool enough to enjoy an evening meal. A flickering fire burns brightly in the hearth behind us, setting off a warm ethereal glow. The table is set for two, thick white candles setting the mood.

"Well, well, well.. Someone has been very busy today. Look at all of this", he observes, taking in the scenery. I kiss him gently before divesting him of his jacket and tie.

"I wanted to do something nice for you. It's not every night I have my husband all to myself. Here, drink up". He takes the cold glass of wine from me, taking a sip as he eyes me over the rim. He's regarding me closely, searching for something. A self-conscious flush breaks out in my face and I can't help but to hide my nervousness by lowering my gaze. "Why don't you take a seat and I'll get dinner. I made your favorite".

Giving him a quick kiss, I make my way to the kitchen, letting out my breath. My nerves are shot, so over anxious about tonight. It would be so much easier if I had some inkling as to how Christian will react. My heart tells me he will be the man I married, the man with integrity who always keeps his word. I know in my heart that he loves me and will honor the one request I've ever asked of him. _Yeah, then why are you so nervous? What is your gut telling you? He's got you right where he's always wanted you. Do you really think a man like him will give up his control so easily? _No. No. He promised me. We'd talked about it on and off for quite awhile. He's always known that I expected to go back to work eventually. Besides, I don't need his permission. I'm my own woman. I'm only asking for his support. _Yeah, sure you are. _ Fuck you!

Before leaving the kitchen, I take a long cleansing breath, letting it out slowly. The Mac and cheese wafts in the air, signaling my approach long before I get there.

"Hmm. Something smells good", he says as I place his dinner before him. I take my seat beside him and wait for him to dig in. "This is really good, Anastasia. Well done".

"Good, I'm glad you like it". I try to smile, but I'm afraid all I can come up with is tempered grimace. I take a sip of wine, hoping a jolt of liquid courage to my system will curb my anxiety and free me from its grip.

"You're not eating. What's wrong?"

"Um, I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought".

He sighs, picking up a forkful of macaroni and cheese. He holds it in front of me, "If you want me to feed you, all you have to do is ask. You know this is one of my fantasies".

I take the fork in my mouth, this time it seems to go down much smoother. "Doesn't that fantasy involve force feeding and large amounts of duct tape".

He smiles feeding me another forkful, "Yes, but I think I like this tactic much better. You're more pliant and cooperative when I'm gentle".

"There's much to be said for soft diplomacy. It can get you a lot farther than hard power".

"Well I for one like using my hard power. It has never failed me. It's always gotten me whatever I want", he smirks moving closer to me, his arm snaking around my waist. "Is that what you're doing, Anastasia? Using your diplomatic skills, to soften me up, make me heel for you? Is that what this dress is about?" He runs his hand along my side, caressing the curve of my waist all the way down to my thigh. "What are you softening me up for, Mrs. Grey?" His voice is ardent in his questioning, but his eyes are alive and playful. He's in a good mood. Maybe I should go for it. Just tell him.

"Umm. Well," I begin nervously, looking down at my hands. "Now that Phoebe is in school, I think it's time for me to go back to work at Grey Publishing on a full-time basis. I could start part-time for the summer, and once the kids start school for the year and we develop a routine, then maybe I can start taking over more of the managerial responsibilities little by little until I become president".

Releasing my breath, I take a sip of my wine and look at Christian. He's pulled away from me, taking his arm and the warmth of his security with him. He's sitting firmly back in his chair, his face a mask looking at me and at that moment, I realize I've made a mistake.

"So that's what this is all about. Sending the kids to my parent's house. The dress, the dinner, everything. You did all of this, so you can blindside me". Ah, fuck. This isn't going as I planned. Damage control, Ana. I reach over and take his hand, hoping to re-form a connection.

"It wasn't my intention to blindeside you. I only want to have a fair and open discussion about something that's important to me. That's all"

"Ana, I thought we agreed that the best thing for our children is to have their mother home with them".

"Of course, it's important for the kids to have their mother with them. I've been there for them from the moment they were born. That's why I compromised with you and stopped working altogether after Phoebe was born. But now. Christian, there's no need for me sit around the house all day just wasting my time". Before the words could leave my lips, he stands up suddenly. A vision of uncoiled, suppressed anger towering over me.

"Wasting your time?" he breaths heavily. "Is that what being a mother means to you?

"What? No! Don't put words in my mouth. That's not what I meant, and you know it. My children mean the world to me. They'll be in school while I'm at work. They won't miss me".

The warmth of the night air has receded, blasted back by the coldness emanating from him. I can feel my Christian, the man I fell in love with, the man I married, retreating from me. In his place, a cold defiant man stands before me, and I know his answer before they soil his lips.

"No. Now isn't the time for you to go back to work. Teddy and Phoebe are too young, and they need their mother at home with them. That's my final answer, Anastasia, and I don't want to hear about this anymore", he says simply. I watch, in shock as he turns, his legs taking him step by step away from me. No. No. he promised. He'd promised me. _I told you, so. You were a sucker to believe him. He fed you lies, told you what you wanted to hear to make you heel. _No, we made a bargain and compromised. He wouldn't screw me like a business adversary. He promised.

"Christian, you promised", I scream into the night, not caring if the entire neighborhood hears me. He turns around and stares at me, shock evident on his face. I don't think he's ever heard my voice at this octave, so strong, so filled with aggression. I stand my ground as he approaches me. His back stiff, jaws clenched.

"Lower your fucking voice Anastasia", he says. His voice is deceptively calm, but I know better. I know beneath all that calm, lying dormant, is a layer of menace waiting to erupt. But I don't care. He's gone too far.

"Christian, you promised that once the kids were in school full time, that I could go back to work and you would sign Grey Publishing over to me".

"Well, I've changed my mind. You have very little experience. You're not ready to run a company all by yourself", he shoots back, still standing in front of me.

"Not ready yet? That is bullshit, and you know it. I ran that place practically all by myself before you forced me out. When I was there, we had three books, that I championed, which were all best sellers. Now, we'd be lucky if we pulled even this year". He combs his hands through his hair with such force, I'm surprised he hadn't snatched it clear off his head. I watch wide eyed, chest heaving as he turns away from me and paces maddeningly round me. Christian doesn't pace. He only does this when he is feeling out of control, stuck on the wrong side of logic and is trying to come up with an argument that would justify his point. He knows I'm right. He knows I belong at the helm at Grey Publishing. I made that place a success, and now that I'm not there guiding it, steering it into the future, it has sat there stagnant, dying a slow death.

"You tell me one thing, Anastasia", he says, coming home to me. "How the hell do you expect to go back to work full-time and run a company, when we want to try for another baby?"

Wait, what? Another, baby? He's got to be kidding me.

"Another baby? Now? Christian, I've been pregnant for half our marriage. I think I deserve a break, don't you? Yes, I want another baby, but not now. Not anytime soon. I need this Christian".

"For what? I don't understand why this is so important to you. I give you everything. There is nothing on this earth I wouldn't do for you and still that's not enough for you. You still want to go out there and leave your family. Why?"

My lungs constricts in my throat as his words seeps in. Is that what this is all about? How could he think I would leave my family? I only want to work, gaddam it. How did we make that leap?

"No, Christian. My family means the world to me. I love you and the kids so much", I swallow, afraid to go on. Afraid of his reaction. Despite my fears, I have to keep going, I have to be honest. "But sometimes, it's all so overwhelming. Being a mother, being a wife. I went from being a young college graduate, to a wife, to a mother in less than a year. I sometimes feel like I've missed the opportunity to be my own person, to have my own identity."

The tears I've been holding back through the will of my anger, now sits delicately on the precipice of my bruised ego, ready to fall. It's so funny how plans change, how a well laid plan can be upended just by one ill timed display of anxiousness. I'd planned everything so carefully, and now all that planning has gone to hell. "Please, Christian. I'm asking you to fulfill your promise to me. Let's just try. If it doesn't work, I can always cut back my hours. Please."

I walk towards him, desperately trying to establish some connection to him. In the heat of an argument, what binds a couple together sometimes severs its self, leaving them swinging away from each other, missing the opportunity to reconnect. I don't want to disconnect from him. He leans into me. His closeness brings back the warmth inside me, and for a brief moment I feel it will be okay. I feel that I could bring him to reason. Get him to understand how I feel.

I love my husband beyond reason, and the thought of us resenting each other is unbearable to take. But the fact is, I hate that he's reduced me to this. Reduced me to the point where I have to beg him for my survival. Beg him to allow me to keep a part of myself - That despite all the times I've compromised, capitulated and all out surrendered to every one of his needs, it is never enough. I fear that if I don't stand-up firm for myself, he will keep taking from me, trimming me, molding me, until there is nothing of the real Anastasia left. _It's too late Anastasia, he's already cut you down to size. Look at you, you fit perfectly in the mold he's set for you. Since the day you've met him, he's slowly absorbed you and now you are no longer your own person, only an extension of him. You may have the title of wife, but make no mistake, Anastasia, you are no more than his submissive. _

No. No, I'm not his submissive. I'm his fucking wife. His partner, his equal. _Keep telling yourself that. _We've worked so hard, overcame so much. I know he sees it. I know deep down Christian knows that I need this. I've done so much for him. Made so many sacrifices, all in an effort to ease his mind and give him some semblance of peace. The constant security; the inability to make friends without invading their privacy, the suffocating possessiveness. But what about me? What about what I want? I've done so much for him. He fucking owes me.

"Owe you?" His spits out the words in my face as if its taste is rancid and spoiled in his mouth. I coil inside as realization hits. I said the words out loud. "What the fuck do I owe you Anastasia? I owe you because you demeaned yourself and married a deviant, control freak like me. You've beared my spawns and now you want your freedom. Is that it?"

"No, of course not. How can you say that, Christian? I love you. I love my kids. I love our family. All I'm asking is for one simple thing. That's it".

He looks at me, his glaring gray penetrating my defiant blues. His mind is processing, making a determination on our future. He takes a breath and simply says, "No", with a finality that singes the air as he turns from me and enters the house, disappearing in the direction of his study.

My chest seizes in grief. Looking down at the uneaten dinner, the flickering of the candles waving in front of me, my stomach curdles at the sight. All of my expectations, my hard work lay uneaten on the plate. He's disregarded it, pushed it away much like my feelings. No, he says. How can two little letters with no specific place of prominence come together and form such a devastating blow? It hurts. No. Hurt doesn't seem to be an apt enough word to capture the level of emotions inside me. I burn. I burn hot until everything in my vision is red. I pick up his plate, gripping it tightly. I feel my arms propel forward, aiming at the door frame. The plate crashes against it, but the sound doesn't carry the same anger as it's impact. It is quiet. And I can only think that this is the calm before the storm; the precursor to what I know will end up being a very difficult time.

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**I'm going to hide in a cave while you guys calm down. Just know it was really hard to write. This topic is very personal for me because, I married and had children young and felt a little suffocated in the beginning (there I go again with the TMIs). **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for the delay. My original intention was to update this story at least twice per week. But real life doesn't want to cooperate with me. Much respect to those of you who update not only everyday, but sometimes multiple times in the day. Anyway, I present to you Christian's point of view, starting from the end of chapter three. CG Pov has proven much harder to write than Anastasia's. He's a hard nut to crack. Especially since he has all sorts of crazy going on in his head. Next chapter, we'll have CG's reaction to Anastasia's big announcement. Again thank you to all of you gracious people who took the time to review, follow and favorite this story. It means so much. you don't know how much it motivates me. This is a hard chapter to read. Please stick it out with me._  
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**_Chapter Four_**

_**Five years earlier (two months after the argument)…Christian's Pov…**_

I sit back in my chair with my eyes closed tuning out the monotonous drones as they spew their numbers and statistics at me. I should be listening; should be focused on what they're saying. But I can't. My mind is far away nestled between large oak trees, in a house sitting quietly on the sound. I wonder what she's doing? What she's wearing? Has she even thought of me today? My fingers twitch in anticipation as a vision of her soft pale skin invades my mind. I rub them together, silently reassuring them that soon enough they will feel her softness again.

It's been eight weeks since I've touched my wife. Eight weeks since I've kissed her lips, shared her bed or even a warm word. We speak to each other, mostly in passing and only for the benefit of the children. Her words are succinct and clinical and every time she turns to me I lift my head in anticipation of the warmth that has always been there. But it is gone, replaced by something I can't even begin to understand. I miss her beyond reason and as much as I've tried to get us back on track, she's stubbornly dug in her claws and closed herself off from me.

The night of that fucking argument, I'd rushed home, leaving a stressful fucking day behind me. All day the tightness in my body distracted me. My muscles twitched and burned uncontrollably with a constant throb, setting each and every nerve-ending on fire. I was pent up. Tightly wound, in need of a release. So, when my beautiful, sexy wife called to let me know that we had the house to ourselves and the entire weekend to fuck her senseless, I was more than happy to drop everything and rush home. Grey Enterprises could go down in flames for all cared.

For the rest of the day, fantasies of Anastasia tugged at my brain, making my groin ache in anticipation. It had been a long time since I'd had her all to myself, without the interruption of work or our children. I rushed home, my balls on fire, and when I saw her descending the stairs, in that fucking dress, I had to restrain myself from ripping it clean off her body and fucking her right in the foyer.

I should've suspected something was wrong from the moment I came home. Anastasia seemed off, a little jittery. From the moment she kissed me hello, her body never relaxed. She seemed as if she was gauging my mood, waiting for something. I was so ready to get on with our night, that I prodded her, pushed her to tell me what was going on.

As I think about it, I don't know what I really expected her to say. Perhaps that she wanted to redecorate the house, take a trip to her mother's, maybe buy a new car. For the life of me, the last thing I expected was for Anastasia to voice the one thing I've been dreading for a very long time.

I suppose in hindsight, I should've known it was coming. She'd been dropping hints for awhile now. Always commenting on how big the kids are getting. How Phoebe will be a few months away from Kindergarten and she'll be home all by herself. I ignored all the flashing signs, pushing them back to the far reaches of my mind. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I continuously denied what was in front of me and told my self that Anastasia was content with our arrangement; that she was happy with her role as caretaker of the family. At times I would see her, wistfully sitting at her desk, her mind a million miles away. I told myself, she's thinking of her family, of me, of the children. But a voice deep in the back of my mind niggled at me. He spewed the truths I tried to hide from. He tells me that something is wrong, that she's not happy, and that I'm losing her. I would quickly snuff him out, refusing to acknowledge any of those ridiculous statements.

But now, I can't do that anymore. She's said it out loud, put it out there. She wants to leave our house, leave me, the children and go back to work. Go back to work. Go back to fucking work! Why? I just don't understand Anastasia. I don't understand why she would fuck everything up after all these years. Everything has been working out so well. Our children are happy and thriving and our relationship is stronger than it has ever been. _Really? Didn't you listen to one word she said? She said you suffocate her; that you stifle her with your possessiveness, that she needs to be her own person outside of you. Does that sound like a happy little wife to you, Grey?_

Shut up! Just shut the fuck up.

"Mr. Grey"? Opening my eyes, I look into three sets, staring back at me with shock on their faces. A small smile ghost over Ros' lips. But Peterson from Accounting and Tomlinson in Operations don't seem so amused. You would think they haven't heard worse coming out of my mouth.

"Uh….Let's pick this up tomorrow. Just send me the spreadsheets and I'll take a look at them later", I say rubbing my temples as I dismiss them. A dull thumping starts at my temple signaling a coming migraine.

"Absolutely, sir. I'll send it to you right away", Petersen responds as they make their way out of my office. I lower my head, rubbing my face in the palms of my hands.

"Christian", I lift my head at the sound of Ros' voice. She's closed the door behind Petersen and Tomlinson. She walks back to my desk, taking her previous seat. "I wanted to let you know that the contracts were signed earlier this afternoon. Considering the economy and what little you paid for it, I think we made out better than expected. You should be pleased, it's all done".

Something sharp and venomous creeps from my belly and through my chest. It's done, she says. "I'm glad you were able to handle everything without me, Ros. Thank you for letting me know".

She nods her head, still sitting, her eyes never leaving mine. "Did you get around to telling Ana, yet?"

I let out a deep sigh. My chest burns. If she were anyone else, I would've told her to get the fuck out of my office and clear her damn desk out. Who the fuck does she think she is, intruding on my life? "No. Not yet. I'll tell her soon".

A quick flit of emotion passes over her face. It doesn't stay long. Just long enough for me to mark it. It flashes of disappointment. "Very well". She gets up to leave. As she reaches the door, she stops and turns back to me, a deep frown marring her face. "Christian, I know I'm dangerously close to crossing a line here, but as your advisor and friend, I feel I need to pass on some sage advice".

"And what advice would that be Ros?"

"You need to tell Anastasia, tonight. You need to be honest and upfront with her".

"I told you I will tell her", I yell not curbing my temper. It is sitting raw beneath me, just waiting to lash out. She's fucked with a coiled rattle snake, ready for its dinner.

Ros glares at me, not giving a shit. Besides Anastasia and perhaps John Flynn, she's the only other person in my life, who doesn't cow down to me and who, unfortunately for me, has this annoying habit of telling me the shit I don't want to hear. "You can yell at me all you want Christian Grey. But it doesn't change a fucking thing. You should've told her a long time ago. I'm warning you, Christian. Tell her tonight. Don't let her find out from someone else".

"Goddam it, Ros. I told you I will fucking tell her. Now do me a favor and get your nose out of my fucking marriage".

"Fine. But when this shit blows up in your face, don't say I didn't warn you", she shouts back at me as she opens the door and storms out before slamming it. I stare at the empty space dumbfounded. I don't think Ros has ever yelled at me before. In the years she's worked for me, I've yelled at her, accused her of shit and not once has she ever dared to yell back at me. I should fucking fire her! Who the fuck does she think she is? Coming into my office and involving herself in my marriage. Is she out of her goddamn mind? _You know she's right? You have to tell Anastasia and you better tell her soon._

I will fucking tell her. I'll tell her tonight. She'll be upset, probably scream. Maybe cry a little. But in the end, after I've laid everything out to her, she'll see that I did the right thing. She'll see that I chose our family when she wouldn't, that I did what was best for all of us. _Don't you mean you did what was best for you? You fucked up, Grey. Now she'll finally see you for the fucked up bastard you really are and when does, she'll take her children and leave you all alone._

No. Fuck. Anastasia would never leave me. I know her. I know her heart and I know that she loves me. _Does she love you? Or does she love the part you've allowed her to see? _Anastasia loves all of me. I told her my deepest darkest secrets, showed her the grime and rotten bottom of my being and still, with all that she has seen and heard she chose to be with me. The Crackwhore might have conceived me, Grace might have saved me. But Anastasia gave me life in its purest form. She gave me her love, her children, my life_. You don't deserve her, Grey. A sick bastard like you doesn't deserve that kind of happiness. You had no right to her in the first place. What made you think you think you deserved that kind of love? What have you done to deserve her? Nothing!_

Fuck! Shoving my hands in my hair, I pull against it, calming myself through the throbbing pain. Pain is good. Pain relieves the stress and centers my equilibrium. With my hands fisted in my hair, I inhale deeply chasing behind my runaway heartbeat. I close my eyes, pulling a little harder, sinking into the pain. I feel so lost, so out of control. My insides burn, swirling uncontrollably in a funnel cloud, destroying every built up wall of protection. I haven't had this feeling in so long. Not since I was a fifteen year old delinquent without a center. A flood of foreign and long repressed feelings bleeds into each other, suffocating me.

I can't lose her. If she goes out there into the world without me by her side, she'll finally see. She'll see how grotesque and abnormal I am, she'll see behind my mask. Men will fall at her feet, they'll offer her everything she deserves and everything I can't. She will finally realize that she's made a mistake and married me and had my children. She'll take them and leave me on my own. _That's right, now you're beginning to get the picture_.

Wiping away my tears, I call Taylor and tell him to bring the car around. Fuck this. I'm going home. No more hiding, no more pity. I've never deluded myself, I am a selfish fuck who wants what he wants and will do anything to get it. I want my wife, I want my family and I'll do my damnest to preserve it. I'm going to finally put this shit to rest and take my family back. We'll get past it even if I have to bring Anastasia kicking and screaming behind me.

* * *

There is a quiet calm in the house as I enter. The usually loud raucous of the welcome wagon is nowhere in sight. It's close to ten o'clock in the evening, so my only guess is that both Teddy and Phoebe are already fast asleep. Placing my briefcase on the massive table in the foyer, I take a deep breath before entering the house, in search of Anastasia. I'm much calmer now, more so than I was earlier. I feel more confident, more in control. My walls are back in place, separating each emotion.

As I walk through the family room, I see a small light emanating from Ana's study. She's awake, most likely reading one of her favorite classics. In the back of my mind, I hope she's up waiting for me, hoping to reconcile and bring us back together. _You should be so lucky. Even if she is, when she hears what you did, she will never wait for you again. She'll be gone._ Fuck off already, I'm not going there again. I'm done with doubting myself. I've taken a stance and decided that the best thing for me to do right now is to put my family first and to protect it. _Hmm, protecting? You've destroyed your family for good. _Shut your motherfucking mouth, you bastard! Fuck I need Anastasia, right fucking now.

Pushing the door open, my eyes immediately lands on her. She's at her desk typing away on her laptop, the iridescent glow from the screen bathing her skin. An involuntary moan pushes against my lips as I watch her bottom lip taken prisoner between her teeth. Lost in whatever she's doing, she nibbles relentlessly on it and I can't help but to wonder if she knows I'm watching. She knows what it does to me. She knows how much it drives me crazy. Another way for her to prolong my torture.

Opening the door wider, I softly knock, announcing my arrival. Her large blue eyes shoots up in surprise, before recognition seizes them, and the warmth in them cool over. Trying to ignore the fact that they usually lights up whenever they see me, I say smallest, most mundane thing I can come up with. "Hi'.

She slowly lowers the lid to her laptop as I walk further into the room coming to a stop directly in front of her. Hmm... interesting. I wonder what she's doing so late on the computer. It's not her favorite thing, she rarely uses it. What is my Ana up to?

"Hi", she replies, her voice small. "You're home late". Her words are laced with a bit of censure, a dash of rebuke. But I take them, deservedly so. It's better than nothing.

"I guess the night got away from me". _She used to call you at work to let you know she misses you and wants you home. Now she could care less what you do. You've lost her Grey, time to admit it. _I wince as my chest burn. She doesn't notice.

"The kids are asleep. They tried to wait up for you, but they just couldn't anymore. They both left pictures for you on the kitchen counter. If you have to leave before they wake up in the morning, please write them a note or something... They... they miss you. A lot".

"I miss them too.. A lot". She gives me an uncertain smile, her crystal blue eyes brimming with tears. Looking away from me, she brushes her cheeks, before wrapping her arms around her. Ah, the defensive posture. A bit of truth seeps through the cracks and now she has to rein in her emotions. She's stubbornly hanging on.

"Well, it's getting late. I'm going off to bed". As she gets up from the chair behind her desk, the low neckline of her night gown drops just a bit, giving me a peek of the large mounds that fits perfectly in my hands. The twitching in my fingers starts again, revitalized by its craving. I want her so fucking bad. Before she could pass me, I reach out to her, grabbing her wrists. She halts mid stride, momentarily caught off guard by my touch. An electrical current reverberates between us and as I notice the quickening of her pulse, I can't help the satisfied smile from crossing my face. It's still there between us, no matter how upset she is with me, she can't help herself. Our love and need for each other is ingrained in us, tattooed forever in our being and no matter how upset she is, she'll never be able to rid herself of me. _Is that how you plan on keeping her? Making her addicted to you. _It's not a perfect plan, but fuck it. I'll take her however I can get her_. Disgusting bastard! _

"Anastasia, God I've missed you", I breathe in her ear as our bodies meet. Her body stiffens for a fraction, ready to resist.

"Christian, stop. Don't.. I'm still..", she moans as my mouth trails from her ears and caresses the base of her neck. I smile as her body softens and molds itself to me. "I'm still upset with you".

"I know baby, I know. I just have to feel you. I've missed you so much, Anastasia". I capture her lips before she could respond as my hands roam all over her body. Even though I haven't touched her in eight weeks, my hands need no reacquainting. They know her body so well, they're back home where they belong. "You're my everything, Anastasia. I want to be your everything".

"You are, baby. You are". Her declaration is strong and fervent, and if I could open up and let myself go just a little, I could almost believe her. I want to believe her. I want to trust that she came into my web with her eyes wide open, that she saw my true person and loved me anyway. But as much as I want to do that, I just can't. Something nameless and faceless tells me she doesn't know. That I fooled her, captivated her, manipulated her and used her naiveté and lack of experience against her. I selfishly took her for myself, married her and impregnated her, hoarding her love and kindness all for myself - keeping her locked up just for me. What if I lose her? What if she goes out there and realizes she's married a man wearing a mask, a con, a fraud? "Christian, I love you. I need you.. you're my everything", she says answering my prayer.

Her kisses are as rapacious as mine. It seems I'm not the only one who has been pent up and pinning for some relief over the last eight weeks. _Better strike while the iron's hot Grey_. Taking the son of a bitch's advice, I quickly peel her night gown off her body and rip her panties to shreds. She moans in my mouth as I pick her up, wrapping her long luscious legs around me and finding the loveseat by the window.

In raw reverence, I watch as my glorious wife unbuttons my shirt and rid me of my pants. Her eyes captures mine as she holds my cock in her hands and slowly sinks her wet middle onto me. Something shines in her eyes, something defiant and proud and sexy as hell. I like her this way. _You only like her this way when she's fucking you. Outside of the bedroom, when she tries to assert herself, you quickly suppress. What are you afraid of Grey. _I shake my head, bringing my attention back to Anastasia. That fucker isn't welcome here. He doesn't deserve an audience. Not when my Anastasia is on top of me, her beautiful pert breasts bouncing with each movement pulling my lips to them. I devour them, one by one; twisting and pulling, biting them while simultaneously bouncing her on my cock. She comes magnificently and proudly, yelling out my name, digging her nails into my neck. I release myself inside her, matching her intensity. "Ah, Fuck, Ana".

"This doesn't change anything between us, Christian", she says as she lays her head in the crook of my neck, my cock still buried inside her. I inhale her scent luxuriating in her closeness, my fingers grazing her back. "I still want to work, and you don't want me to". I sigh deeply. I don't want to think or talk about this shit right now. _Of course you don't. Then you'd have to tell her what you've done._

"I don't want to fight Anastasia. I only want to lay here with you".

"I know. I don't want to fight with you either. I wish we could just put a bandaid on it and sweep everything under the rug. But the truth is, we have serious issues that need to be resolved before we can move on". She pulls away from me, taking her warm skin away. I want to hold her to me, encase her body into mine until we merge physically. That's the only way I'll be okay.

"I know Anastasia. I know", I sigh feeling my temper rising. What the fuck does she want me to say? She wants to work, I don't want her to. End of fucking story. _Why don't you say it to her just like that. I'm sure she'll appreciate it._

She lowers her eyes, biting her lips. Without warning she lifts off me, disconnecting us from each other. Shrugging into my shirt, she buttons it, her fingers moving in a hurry. "You don't act as if you know. I honestly don't think you realize how much your dismissal has hurt me. This is important to me and the fact that you don't see my point makes me upset".

The sadness in her voice steals our moment. The electricity and sexual evanescent that sparkled the room just a moment ago are sucked out by the emotional reality of our plight. We're still a married couple at a crossroads, split in half by the need of one and the absolute selfishness of the other. I know where I stand. I am guilty. I know I am. I have to make this right somehow. I feel her retracting from me, I can't lose her.

Walking over to her, I dig into my pocket of tricks and pull out my most successful weapon against her. I give her that smile. The one she calls boyish, the one I named devilish. Her face reddens as I dip my lips to hers and taste her ambrosia. It injects itself into my system and my vision reduces, blocking everything out but her. "I want to understand this, Anastasia. I want to understand where you're coming from". I deepen the kiss, she opens her mouth accepting me willingly. Good girl. "I don't want to fight with you, especially with our anniversary being only a week away". My snake hands slithers beneath her shirt, finding her spot. I press on it and rub it just a little, not too much. "Let's go away, by ourselves". I circle it, pushing two of my fingers inside her. Oh God, she's so wet. "And when we come back, maybe we could make an appointment with Flynn and figure this thing out".

"You'd do that? You're willing to do that for me?" She pants out against my lips. Her body tightens against my onslaught.

"Yes, I'll do anything for you. I'll make this right".

"Ah, Christian". She comes delicately on my fingers. Her body sags, limply falling against me. I pick up her small body, cradling her against me. She snuggles against my chest, letting out a sigh. "I love you, Christian".

"I love you too". I walk my wife through our house, up the stairs to our bedroom. Laying her limp body on our marital bed, I look down on her as she looks up at me, a yearning on her face. She needs me, she wants me. She raises her hand, summoning me to her. I look at it, halted by the burning in my chest. _You're such a shit. A monster, a heartless bastard._ The burning intensifies, scorching everything in its wake. _When are you going to tell her? She deserves to know. TELL HER! _

"Christian, what's wrong?" She asks. The 'v' in her brow showing prominently. If only she knew.

I take her hand, falling into her as she guides me closer. Her limbs cocoons around me, cradling me to her chest. I revel in her closeness, absorbing everything, committing everything to memory. _You better enjoy it Grey. _ I know. _It's probably the last time she'll ever let you touch her again_. I know.

* * *

"Do you need anything else, Mr. Grey", Andrea asks as she gets up from her seat.

"Yes, actually. Please arrange for two dozen white roses to be delivered to my wife at home. I'll write out the card myself. Also, can you please look into rental houses in California, somewhere on the coast, on a beach? Mrs. Grey would like that".

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey. Do you have any specifics any special requests?"

"No, Andrea. Just the usual. Just make sure it's secluded. It'll just be myself and Mrs. Grey and perhaps Sawyer and Ryan".

"I'll get right on that and e-mail you the houses for your approval". She walks out, prancing on her feet. I have to give that girl a raise. I've never met anyone who finds enjoyment in taking care of my shit. I probably won't even look at her e-mails. Andrea knows my tastes and I trust her with the planning. I'm sure Anastasia will love it.

At the thought of Anastasia, the burn intensifies in my chest. It had stayed with me all night. All through our loving making, my sleepless night and even during breakfast with the family. Phoebe and Teddy were their usual selves and for the first time in a long time, Anastasia and I sat comfortably in front of each other. She smiled at me. Kissed me good morning, held my hand.

_But you still haven't told her yet. You fucked up._ I don't know what I was thinking. I've prided myself on being a thoughtful, deliberate business man. Even before I came into business, after my training with Elena, I never made a decision without taking my time to deliberate and analyze every conceivable angle. I've done this all my life, except whenever it has to do with Anastasia. Unfortunately, since the day she fell into my office, whenever it came to her, I find I'm reactionary. Forever stuck on action first, deliberation later. That's why I did it. I was so fucking mad, so desperate. I just wanted her stop the threat. To neuter it before it fucked up everything.

I have to tell her. I'll tell her when we get to California, that way she will have nowhere to run and will be forced to stay and listen to me. I've prepared myself for everything. I know she will be pissed at me. Maybe madder than she's ever been. But in the end, she will see that I only did it because I love her. _Keep telling yourself that_. Ugh… My chest burns.

Once this is all over and she's calmed down, I'll make it up to her. I'll create a position here at GEH, just for her. Doing anything she wants. It would be perfect, suiting both of our needs. Yes, that's what I'll do. She'll be able to set her own schedule as she sees fit and she would be close enough to me, so that I could keep an eyes on things. Yes. That's what I'll do.

"Ros, get over here, when you a moment. I have an idea for a new position. No, I have someone in mind. Yeah. Now". As I hang up the phone with Ros, I hear a commotion coming from the reception area outside. Just as I make a move to investigate, the doors push open with a force. I look up, outraged, ready to go off. My mouth closes as Anastasia walks in.

The first thing that comes to my mind is how beautiful she looks. Her chestnut hair secured loosely at the nape of her neck. Her long legs exposed beneath the tight skirt of her suit. I wait for her smile, a surprise lunch, a trip to Escala maybe. I rise to my feet in anticipation and for the first time, our eyes meet. She's been crying. My chest burns.

"Anastasia", I whisper. A man going to his funeral. She knows.

"Tell me you didn't do it", she whispers. I wish I could. "Tell me you didn't do this to me". Her voice rising. "Tell me you didn't go behind my back and sell Grey Publishing without telling me". Her voice much firmer. Tears flow down her face, an endless stream of pain. I walk to her, my thumbs erect ready to wipe them away. She slaps my hand away and steps back.

"Anastasia…". That's all I can say.

"Don't fucking touch me. Don't you ever fucking touch me. All last night, while you were fucking me and promising me how we'll figure things out. All that time, you knew what you did and you said nothing", she sobs.

"Anastasia".

"Don't say my fucking name. Just stop saying my name. Tell me Christian. Why did you even promise me? If you knew you had no intention of giving me the company, why did you promise me? How could you do this to me"?

I can do nothing. I can't say anything. How do I tell her that I had all intention of keeping my word? How do I tell her it is my fear of being left alone that motives me. How do I tell her I'm afraid? It's becoming too much. The emotions. I run my both my hands through my hair, pulling it tightly, summoning the pain. It doesn't come. It doesn't take me away. Oh god, my chest burns. I feel panicked. It's racing through me, stretching up my torso, down my legs, all the way to my eye and just as the burn almost incinerates my body, it shuts down. In protective mode. I hear Anastasia's words. Her accusations, her demands. I have no answers, no quick way to mollify her. I open my mouth ready to explain.

"It's my fucking company", I hear myself yelling. No, no. What are you saying? Stop. "If I want to sell it or hold on to it. Or let it sit and fucking rot. It's mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want". Her beautiful face contorts in shock, before quickly settling into a scowl.

"Your company? What happened to it being ours?" I don't answer. "Do you really think this is going to stop me, Christian? What did you think, that you'd just sell the company behind my back and I'll just be a good wife and forgive you?" I don't say anything. "You're not going to stop me. This..this isn't going to stop me". She wipes away her tears, defiantly coming to a decision and sticking to it. I feel a movement, or a shift beneath me. Something has changed.

"I think it would be best, if you stayed at Escala, tonight. I'll have Taylor bring over your clothes". No, baby no.

She waits. I still can't say anything, I can't move. Fresh tears falls down her pretty cheeks. I want to brush them away. She beats me to it, as her face flashes a thousand expressions.

"I.. I..'

"Don't. There's nothing you can say to me. I trusted you". And with that she leaves me, going as dramatically as she came, leaving the door open behind her. She passes through the reception area, walking pass Ros, Andrea and Taylor. Her good manners abandoned. Ros turns to face me, her face reading what my subconscious is screaming. Walking towards the door, I slam it in their faces. I don't care. She'll calm down once she's home. She needs time, she only needs time. _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy._ She'll forgive me. _You never learn._ My chest burns.

* * *

**Thanks again for reading. Hope you guys liked it. I'm not really satisfied with it, but didn't think I was capable of going any further. Next chapter will be in CG's pov and his reaction to Anastasia's announcement. Thank again for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hey guys. So, I know I promised chapter five would be Christian's reaction to Anastasia's announcement, but as I was writing it, something just didn't seem right. I feel like in order for you guys to understand where they are in the present, you have to see what brought them to that point. My goal is to do two successive chapters of flashbacks and then bring it back to the present. And thanks again to everyone who has review, follow and added me to their favorite list. Much appreciated and serves as a motivation. Thanks so much!**

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

_**Five years earlier (eight months after the argument)**_

_**Anastasia's pov**_

"Thank you so much for coming in Miss. Steele. It was an absolute pleasure meeting you", Mr. Brooks, the portly founder and president of RWB publishing, a small publisher of children's books, says as he walks me out of his office and into the company's receiving area, ending our one hour interview. His blue eyes crinkle's sincerely at me, putting me at ease. Making me feel, dare I say, actually hopeful? _Don't get too hopeful, Anastasia. _Oh, just shut up. Let me enjoy this and then you can rain on my parade. Besides, my confidence needs a little pick me up. You don't get turned down for five jobs in a row, with your confidence intact.

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Brooks. I have to thank you for making time to see me. I know I was becoming a pest with my constant request for an interview."

"Believe me, Miss. Steele, if I considered you a pest you wouldn't be here. In fact, I'm very flattered that someone with your expertise would be interested in a little children's book house like ours."

"I must admit Mr. Brooks, I have an ulterior motive. My five year old is a big fan of your "Rocket" series and I have been told that if I get to work on it, I will be the coolest mom in Kindergarten."

He laughs a deep laugh, his belly moving in tandem. "I'm sure you're already the coolest mother in Kindergarten, but I'll see what I can do to further your cause," he says offering his hand. "Thanks again for coming Miss. Steele. You'll be hearing from me very soon."

I shake his hand, giving him my firm handshake. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Walking into the crisp February air, I feel my mouth broadening into a smile. It feels so strange sitting on my lips, the muscles straining, going much further than it has in a while. _Don't get use to it. You of all people know that you have nothing to smile about._ Ugh, doesn't she ever take a day off. Can't I just have this one moment to forget that my life is falling apart and ignore the fact that I'm outside in the cold smiling maniacally over an interview with a company that pays way less per year than the cost of Phoebe's kindergarten tuition, without her torturing me.

Letting out a deep sigh, I pull out the keys to my Saab and walk briskly to the car. I feel my smile fading away the closer I get. I'm alone today. Free to walk without a shadow and without an audience to my misery. I know it's only temporary and only happened because of a few small lies, but it feels so good not having anyone behind me, watching my every move. And that's what they are doing. They're watching me; watching me for him. Taking stock of every little move I make and reporting it back to him. Maybe not Sawyer and definitely not Taylor, but I most certainly know that Ryan and Reynolds report everything back to him.

Him. I can't even say his name in my head without a thousand and one emotions raging inside. Anger, hurt, love, hate, name it; I feel it for him. I've felt every single emotion, so intensely that the only way to stop myself from combusting is not to think of him at all. But of course, that's impossible. How am I supposed to not think of him? My love, my husband, the father of my children and the one person who has loved me and hurt me more than any person in the world.

Getting into my car, I place the keys in the ignition, unable to turn it. I sit there, cocooned inside the quiet, feeling my spirit deplete second by second. The facade I've built for the benefit of Mr. Brooks melts away, seeping into the leather seat, exposing the raw wounds festering on my skin. I'd hoped it would have lasted a little longer, if only until the kids are asleep and I am alone in bed without him. Free to cry. Free to mourn his complete betrayal.

At the thought of it, my heart seizes in my chest. The wound is still fresh, even after six months of trying to mend it and move on. No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to get past what he did. My trust and my faith in my husband have been absolutely broken and I don't know if I can ever get it back. I wish I could get it back. I wish I could go back to that night, the last night we spent together, entwined in our bed. He'd been so gentle, so reverential; making love to me with such a slow passion it was almost as if he knew it would be our last time. Looking back at it, it was so obvious what he was doing. He was soothing me, laying the ground work, making sure that when I found out about what he'd done, I would just roll over like a good subservient wife and deal with it. He claims he had all intention of telling me, that the sale was merely due to financial reasons and was not in any way to stop me from working. Ha! Even if I believed he sold it because of the money, how does he explain not telling me first? Why did I have to hear it from someone else?

I had been so excited after he came to me and proposed that we discuss our problems with Flynn and come to an agreement that would suit both our needs. Again, I was more than willing to compromise and work part-time so we both could go into this with some kind of ease. For the most part, I agreed with him. The children are still young and will need me until they become more independent. So working part time and waiting to take on more duties at Grey Publishing, seemed almost doable.

Being so excited over the prospect, I called Jan Miller, the current Managing Editor and asked for a meeting to discuss my comeback. I'd walked in there, oblivious to the fact that it was no longer my company or Christian's for that matter. When I entered her office, Jan seemed cold, somewhat aloof. When she mentioned having to consult with the new owners of the company about my come back, it was as if someone had given me a swift kick in the belly. I sat in front of her stunned, completely caught off guard. The kept wife not knowing her CEO husband sold her company right out from underneath her without as much as a thought. It was right there plain for Jan to see. There was no way to recover myself. I looked like a fucking fool. He doesn't care about my feelings. _He doesn't care about what you think or what you want. He doesn't respect you!_

And that's the crux of it all. It's so much more than him selling Grey Publishing behind my back. My hurt goes much further than his lies. The fact is plain and simple. Christian doesn't respect me. I know he loves me. Probably more than he ever imagined and despite what he'd known for so long, he'd opened himself and given me the "more" he never thought himself capable of. The way he looks at me when I walk into a room, the way he's helped me gain confidence in my body, tells me how much Christian loves me. But if I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that all his love doesn't mean shit, if he doesn't respect me as his equal. Without respect, the adoration and reverence just seems superficial. It makes me feel plain and without substance. It makes me feel like a hollow statue, specifically procured to fulfill his needs and nothing more. Not to walk with him side by side. Not to make decisions as a unit. Only to obey, never to question. He once told me, he didn't want to marry a submissive. But it seems it was a lie as well. After all these years, it finally hits me, he wanted a wife he could turn into a submissive.

Driving off into the busy downtown street in the direction of my empty house, I try to clear my mind and think about something more positive than my crumbling marriage. Even though right now, my confidence has plummeted way down to unchartered territory, I do feel very good about my chances at RWB. I really think Mr. Brooks liked me, and I do believe he was very receptive to my ideas on how to market to parents and younger children. He even liked my idea on branching out and taking advantage of the young adult market. I only hope Mr. Brooks sees my potential and is willing to give me a chance.

I don't know. I just don't know anymore. How did I get here? How did I get to the point where I'm begging for a job with a company that's barely operational? How did I get to a point where after four years of busting my ass in college, I'm practically throwing myself at anything that's willing to pay me? _You know how you ended up like this. You had a life, a career and friends you loved and he came in and took it all away from you, simply because you allowed it._ She's right! I can't place the blame entirely on Christian's shoulders. He is who he is and has never shied away from admitting his visceral need for control and to dominate everything in his life - including me. That one point, he has never lied about. He was upfront with me. I knew exactly the kind of man I was falling in love with and yet, despite everything I knew, I allowed the promise of "more" to blind me to his natural domineering tendencies. I desperately wanted to be with him and I told myself that if Christian loved me enough to give up the lifestyle he has only known, then I could trust him enough to give myself to him – mind, body and soul. I guess I was too naïve and in love to understand the depth of such a promise to a man like Christian Grey. He took it as a clear possession; a relinquishment of my free will.

And now that the promise has been stretched to its limit, we all have to pay the price - myself, Christian and most of all Phoebe and Teddy. As much as I like to tell myself the kids do not notice something is wrong, I know that they do. Phoebe is too young to really examine and contemplate the change, but my son is much like his father. He sits and brood, his mind twirling with unasked questions. Why does daddy only come home for dinner and then leaves after he's tucked them in? Why is he never at home when he gets ready for school? He wants to ask, but he bites his tongue, most likely afraid of the answer. His alert gray eyes inspects us closely whenever we are together on the weekends, moving between us, most assuredly picking up on the distance and coldness. He's grown up seeing his parents always touching and kissing and now they are barely in the same room as each other. My kids are paying the price.

As my cell phone goes off, crowding the empty car with the sound of "My Love is King", the bottom of my belly flips and not in a good way. The realization of that fact seizes my heart and again a pouring of complete sadness overwhelms me. For a split second, the thought of not answering it crosses my mind, but I relent knowing that he will continue bombarding my phone with calls until I pick up.

"Hello," I answer, keeping my voice as calm and level as possible.

There is a split second pause before he speaks. "Where are you? I called the house and Gail said you weren't there."

I sigh feeling my anger rise almost to its limit. It seems to always be just below the cusp when dealing with Mr. Grey. "I had an appointment this morning with Dr. Greene. I'm on my way home now."

Silence. His breath comes through the phone. I can imagine him sitting back in his chair, his hands running violently through his hair. I wait for him to confront. He knows I'm lying.

"With Dr. Green?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you take Ryan or Reynolds with you? You shouldn't be driving yourself, Anastasia. I pay them large sums of money to protect my family and I'd appreciate it if you'd allow them to do their jobs," he grits out at me. My temper has now pass its limit.

"First of all, Christian. I'm not an invalid. I do have a driver's license and several cars at my disposal. And secondly, I really didn't feel like going to my gynecological appointment with Ryan or Reynolds."

He sighs again, that seems to be his favorite form of expressing his exasperation at the situation. "Is there a reason why you called, Christian?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I'll be leaving the office at two o'clock to collect you. So be ready by two-thirty the latest."

"Why?"

"Teddy wants us to pick him up today. We promised we'd both be there to meet that new friend of his… What's his name?"

"Jeremy. Yes, I completely forgot about that. Yes. Of course, I'll be ready." Shit, how could I have forgotten about this? Teddy has been so excited about his new friend Jeremy who had moved to the area a few months ago. Teddy, like both Christian and I, is by nature an introvert at heart, which makes it terribly difficult to connect with other children and make friends easily. For the last couple of days, he's been hounding us to invite Jeremy over to the house for a play date. Christian being the control freak that he is wants to meet the parents first and determine if they are worthy enough to be around his son. I'm sure Welch has already given him an extensive dossier on the family. "Teddy seems happier than he's been in awhile. This really means a lot to him. It's his first little friend who isn't a family member."

"Is that you're way of telling me to behave Mrs. Grey," his voice is much lighter than it has been in weeks. The denseness of his anger no longer weighing it down. "I know it's important to him. That's why I cleared my schedule. I want the children to be happy Anastasia. I want our family to be happy." My breath hitches just a bit at the softness in his tone. There is no way to ignore the longing in his voice. It is saturated deep in it, telling me that no matter the harshness of our words, beneath it all, we still love each other very much. If only love was enough.

"I know Christian. I know you want our family happy. I do too." I pause, taking a breath. "That's why I think we need to try Flynn again. Maybe I can make an appointment and we can sit down and force ourselves to get through it, no matter how uncomfortable and hard it is to hear. I really think it will be good for us to and it will help us move on from this"

"No.. Why would you want to go back to Flynn? He may be a good personal shrink, but he's completely fucking useless as a marriage counselor."

What? "Christian, why would you say that? He's helped you so much."

"Helped me? The motherfucker made me move out of my fucking house and leave my family. The whole point of going to see him in the first place is to bring us together not fucking tear us apart."

I am flabbergasted, completely shocked. "John asked you to move back to Escala because you didn't listen to me when I first asked you to," I yell. "You completely ignored my wishes and came home before I even got a chance to get over you lying to me."

"I'm fucking sick of this Anastasia. It's been over six months, a total of eight fucking months since you started this shit. You claim you want to work and yet you rejected my offer to work at GEH."

Ugh, typical. How can a man be so smart and so fucking dumb in the same breath? Does he really think throwing me a half baked job at GEH will make this okay? Does he really think, I'm so dumb and naïve that I wouldn't see the bullshit in his offer? That it is just another way to keep his grip on me, so he can control me and dictate my every move. If it was a sincere offer, I might've thought about it, possibly given it a chance. But I know Christian. He's trying to placate me, trying to calm the hysterical wife so she doesn't fuck up his ideal picture perfect life. If he doesn't see it, if he doesn't begin to realize what he's done and willing to put in the work, I just don't think we can make it. "Christian, the problem is not as simple as you think. It goes deeper. And until you are willing to really work on it..." I stop, the air traveling up my lungs snags in my throat and releases as a loud sob. "I don't see how we're going to make it."

"Anastasia… Please, don't cry… Look… I .. I don't want you to cry anymore. Okay. Listen, we'll pick up Teddy, meet his friend and then, if you'd like, maybe we can take the kids out for dinner. I'll try Anastasia. I'll try. We'll go see Flynn. Okay."

"Christian, you've said this before. You've promised in the past to make an effort and every time you hear something you don't like, you shut down and give up. Don't promise me if you don't mean it?"

"Anastasia, I promise you. I'll do anything to make this right between us." His voice spills through the phone and washes over me. The firmness of his words makes me believe him.

"Okay, good. I'm glad you're willing. Look, I'm home now. I'll see you at two-thirty."

"Yes, see you at two-thirty. Laters, baby." I smile hanging up the phone.

I walk into the house, feeling spent, completely worn out. That's seems to be the constant effect of a simple conversation with Christian Grey. A simple reminder phone call, turning into something sharp, chipping away at us. That's what we've resorted to, and my only hope is that it gets better. _No it won't. Not until he understands that you're not his submissive. That you're his wife, his partner, and the mother of his children. Do not accept anything less, Anastasia. Stay strong! _Yeah, yeah, yeah.. That's easy for you to say. You've never liked him. I love him. I miss him.

"Gail… I'm home," I yell as I walk inside the house my husband doesn't live in anymore. Even with Phoebe and Teddy ever present, without Christian, the significance of the house on the sound is lost without him. It just doesn't feel right. I miss him so much.

I walk into the kitchen, the aroma of dinner permeating the entire house. "Hmmm, Gail. That smells delicious. What is it?"

"It's just a little Chicken and Macaroni and Cheese Casserole. I made it for Mr. Grey and thought the kids would like it. I know how they love their macaroni and cheese, so I found a way to incorporate a little protein in it".

"Well, we were going out for dinner with the kids, but since you've gone and made dinner, I think we'll stay in."

"Are you sure? It heats up well," she says taking off her apron.

"Yes, Gail. I'm sure," I answer as I make my way about the kitchen making a cup of tea. "Would you like a cup?"

"Sure," she answers.

As we both sit at the kitchen island with our cups of tea, Gail looks around us, looking to see if there are any eyes and ears around. "So, how did it go?" She asks conspiratorially. Over the years, Gail has become more than an employee to me and far more precious than a friend. I've been able to confide in her with a freedom, I'm incapable of doing with Grace or even my own mother.

"It went well. We spoke for an hour in his office. He seemed to have liked me and was very open to some of my ideas. It was one of the best interviews I've had so far."

"Oh, Ana. That's terrific," she says lightly clapping her hands. Her enthusiasm for me shining through her eyes, making me forget just for a moment all the troubles before. It feels good knowing someone is on my side, cheering for me, hoping I succeed. _Too bad it isn't your husband. How long are you going to settle, Anastasia? When will you realize he doesn't want you to succeed?_

"I'm trying not to get my hopes up, Gail. It's what…? My fifth interview. I left all of them feeling pretty confident about my chances and looked how that's turned out. They didn't want me."

"Oh, Ana. Don't think that way," she admonishes. "You're a bright, competent woman. Anyone can see that. You just haven't found the right opportunity yet, and I'm sure it will come along." She leans forward wrapping her arms tightly around me. I lean into hear, absorbing her warmth, not only in her body, but in her words. _Christian should be telling you this. He should be holding you up, giving you the support and confidence only a husband can._ Yes, he should.

"Thank you, Gail," I say reluctantly letting her go. "I haven't said it enough, but you and Jason and Sawyer have been a Godsend to me. I don't know how our family would've survived all of what's been going on without you guys."

"We do it because we care about you. We're a family. I only hope you and Mr. Grey can find a way to work out your issues and be together again."

"I hope so too Gail. I really do." Wiping the tears away, I try to compose myself. Wow, if Christian could see me, fraternizing with the help. "I'm going up to take a quick bath before Christian and Jason gets here. We're picking Teddy up from school together so we can meet his friend Jeremy and his parents."

"Aww, he's been so excited about his little friend. I'm so glad he's finally found someone he likes. I think having a friend to play with helps him to deal with what's going on here."

"I know", I say as I turn my back to her and head up to my empty bedroom. As I enter, the silence is deafening. At one in the afternoon it is usually quiet, but the emptiness of it, the loneliness of it, the fact that it has been devoid of the love and passion Christian and I have always shared, makes my knees weak and wobbles my resolve. I miss him so much. So fucking much. Every night lying in our bed alone without him, my body trembles from withdrawal. It starves for his kisses, his caresses; missing all the ways he knows how to take me there. Maybe I should let him come home. Maybe if he comes home, we'll be able to work things out and move on from this. _He lied to you, Anastasia._ I know, but I love him. _He'll never change, for you_. He did once and he could do it again. _And you'll be back to where you started. You need to be strong, Anastasia. _Fuck.

Walking into the adjoining bathroom, I turn on the water to the bathtub, before adding a splash of my favorite lavender bath oil. The calming smell clings to the rising steam, releasing the tension strumming through my body. As I unbutton my jacket, then unzip the matching skirt, I hear the distinctive ringing of my cell phone. Grabbing my silk robe from behind the bathroom door, I quickly pull it on, before racing for the phone.

"Hello," I answer, my breathe coming ragged. "Anastasia speaking."

"Hello, this is Roger Brooks, calling. How are you?" Oh shit, it's him. I take a quick breath, calming my runaway heartbeat.

"I'm well Mr. Brooks and yourself."

"I'm fine.. Um.. Miss. Steele. I'm, well… I.. I took a look at our books and right now, I don't feel it would be prudent of me to take on any additional employees. With the economy being what it is, I'm trying everything I can to keep all of my present employees and not lay any one off as it is." My legs buckle, the feel of disappointment rendering them useless.

"Absolutely, Mr. Brooks. I completely understand." I croak out. I bite my lip, willing back the tears.

"Your ideas were wonderful, Mrs. Grey. Maybe once we get back on our feet, we.."

"Excuse me?" What the fuck is going on? "Mr. Brooks, you just called me Mrs. Grey." My heart begins to beat rapidly in my chest.

"Oh..Ah.. Pardon me. Um.. I sure did.. Well, Mrs. Grey, when we're considering an individual for employment, it's customary for Human Resources Department to run a background check on the individual. All we had to do was perform a simple Google search and there you were. Anastasia Grey, wife to business man, Christian Grey."

Damn, I was afraid this would happen. "Mr. Brooks, if you're afraid that somehow my husband will affect my work or influence me in anyway, I can assure you he will not. He's not a factor in this at all."

"That's not the case, Mrs. Grey. If I could, if it was economically feasible for me, I would hire you in a second. I have to keep my company afloat and in this economic climate. I.. I. can't refuse an opportunity like this…. Shit." The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a thought comes to life. My subconscious moves out of the way, giving it room to breathe, to grow as it latches on to my brain. _It's him. You know it is. He's the reason why no one wants you. If you need proof, just ask him. You won't get your answer unless you ask? Ask him, Anastasia._

"Mr. Brooks, I'm going to ask you something and I know there is a possibility you won't be able to answer me truthfully, but I'm going to ask you anyway because I need to know."

"Mrs. Grey.. I don't think that's a good idea".

"Please, Mr. Brooks. I only need you to confirm what I already know, and I promise, I will not betray your confidence. I know how convincing he can be," I bite back a sob. The continuous ache in my chest has amplified, killing my insides, hardening my shell. "Did my husband influence your decision in anyway?"

There is a poignant silence on the other end of the phone that simplifies everything. It clears it up for me, brings me back into the light, illuminating all for me to see. My husband did this to me. My best friend, my lover, my life. _Now do you see? He will not stop until you're broken, until you are nothing. Only a shell of a woman, whose sole purpose is to kneel before him.._

"Thank you, Mr. Brooks. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Mrs. Grey… Please understand…" I hang up on him before he can finish. I have nothing more to say to him, his company will go on, sustained through an infusion of cash all curtsey of Grey Enterprises Holding. I wonder how much it cost him? How much is the going rate for fucking Anastasia over? Three publishing houses, two magazines. Ten million, twenty million, fifty million. I do not doubt his commitment to fuck me over and keep me in my place. I'm sure he's already vowed to himself, that if he has to spend his entire fortune to get his desired result, he will do so gladly.

I get up from my bed, surprised at the calmness. I should be on the floor, curled up in a ball, crying bloody tears of betrayal. Not walking, not breathing, not dressing myself. Preparing to meet the Judas, the self anointed killer of Anastasia's dreams. A large lump rises in my throat as I slip on my riding boots, stuffing the foot of the jeans inside. I bite it back, refusing to cry. Knowing that if I let the flood gates open, a river of something violent, something terrible will flow out, never to recede again.

Walking down the stairs, the calmness is still there. It has to keep in place, if only for Teddy. If only for these few hours, where he will be safe, where he'll have his parents together. A vision of a happy family even if it's an awful lie.

"Oh, Ana, I was just on my way to you. Mr. Grey called," Gail says stopping me in my tracks. Instantly, a red forms in my eye. "Apparently something came up. He won't be able to pick up Teddy with you. Teddy will be so disappointed."

"I'm not surprised. Mr. Grey seems to excel at disappointing the people he claims to love." My calmness still surprises me. "It doesn't matter. I'll have one of the guys drive me there."

Gail looks at me, her brow dipped in question. "What's wrong, Ana?"

"Nothing unusual. Just the same old shit. I have to go. I have to be there for Teddy. I don't want to let Teddy down." She wipes a tear from my cheek, a motherly gesture, not going unnoticed, unappreciated. I hope I remember to do that for Teddy. Wipe the tears from his cheek as his disappointment in his father lacerates him.

The ride to the school is quiet. My mind is blank, devoid of any thoughts, fearful of what thinking too much may bring. As the car pulls onto the palatial greenery of Seattle Prep, I step out of the car, marching with resigned steps towards the front of the school. _Be strong for your children, Anastasia_. _Don't let him break you. _He cannot break me anymore. There isn't anything left to break.

As my mind threatens to combust, a loud laugh seeps in, solidifying my walls.

"Mommy," Teddy yells running towards me. His arms are out, his mouth wide with a smile. My mouth opens, mechanically stretching into a smile. I hope it reaches my eyes. "Where's Dad?" My little boy looks around, his gray eyes scanning.

"Daddy's stuck at work, baby boy. He'll meet us at home later." My heart breaks.

"What", my son sighs. "I thought he said he would be here. Jeremy's Dad is coming."

"I know baby. Maybe some other time." _Don't set your son up for another disappointment._ "But I'm here. Why don't you come and introduce me to your friend?"

He pulls my hand, walking me gently towards the front entrance of the school. "Come on, Jeremy is with Mrs. Huggins, his dad isn't here yet."

"Okay, so we'll keep him company until his parents get here." I smile as my son runs towards the playground, his dark copper curls bouncing on top of his head. He heads for a boy his size, with dark bushy curls, sitting alone, watching the other children play. My heart seizes for him because for just a brief minute, I see my Teddy. Wanting to play and be a part of the group, but lacking the courage to put his pride out there. He lights up as he sees Teddy running towards him. Jeremy is a cute little boy, dark raven curly hair and warm olive skin, setting off his deep blue eyes.

"Mommy, this is Jeremy. He's from New York," Teddy yells dragging the poor boy behind him.

"Hi Jeremy, nice to meet you. I love New York. That's my favorite place to visit." Poor Jeremy just smiles, possibly too overwhelmed. Where the hell are his parents? "Since you're parents aren't here yet, why don't you guys go ahead and play a little?"

As we make our way to the playground, Teddy grabs Jeremy and runs off towards the monkey bars. The two of them playing together is a sight to behold and a part of me wishes Christian was here. As the thought of Christian invades my mind, I feel the tears building up, threatening to flow. Fuck! No. Not here, not when the boys are so happy, so carefree. Boy, how I wish I could be one of them.

"Daddy", I hear Jeremy squeal. He jumps off the monkey bars and runs passed me, Teddy trailing behind. Turning around, I see Jeremy being lifted into the air by a tall man, twirling him around in a circle, the two of them laughing together. He stops, and I watch as Jeremy whispers something in his father's ear. Instantly, he turns around and looks down at Teddy, his wavy brown hair falling on his forehead. Running his hand through his hair, he brushes it away and it doesn't miss me that this act isn't out of frustration or to curb his temper, but a small normal mundane gesture.

For a brief moment, our eyes meet, like his son, his eyes are blue, but it is shockingly bright turquoise blue. His generous mouth parts into a smile and for a minute my breath hitches as I'm greeted by a set of deep dimples. Shifting side by side, I knot my fingers together, smiling awkwardly back as he approaches, both boys beside him.

"Hi," I mutter as he stops in front of me, his towering frame blocking the sun.

"Hi, Mrs. Grey. It's nice to finally meet you," he says as he extends his hand. His is smile sincere, almost infectious.

"Nice to meet you too and please, call me Anastasia," I answer back. As I take his hand, a warm feeling touches my fingers, traveling all the way up my arm and to my cheeks. It flushes through my body, making my heart flutter a little. It isn't as magnetic and shocking as it is with Christian, but it's subtlety is just as effective.

With my hand still in his, our eyes locked tightly, his smile widens just a little as he says, "Then you have to call me James."

* * *

**So, that's how Anastasia meets James. Stay tuned to see how they went from play date parents to almost married. Please review, let me know what you think. I'm a self-proclaimed review whore! So please give it to me!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the late chapter. I've had the most severe case of writer's block ever. I wrote three full drafts of this chapter and decided this was the best I could come up with. So consider it a filler. The good news is, I'm four pages into chapter 7 and will be alternating between pov's. Again sorry for the delay and a special thank you to everyone who's nudged me and nicely asked for an update. Thanks for all of the reviews, alerts and favorites. They encourage me. A special shout out to Caterwaul. She's the greatest. Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Chapter Six**

_**Christian Pov…..**_

"Mr. Grey", Andrea's voice breaks through the intercom. The sound of her voice grates against my already volatile nerves, pushing it almost over the edge.

"What?" I bark into the phone as I pick it up.

"Um, uh, Mr. Welch would like to see you, Mr. Grey. He doesn't have an appointment, but he says you're expecting him", she stutters. About fucking time, I've been waiting for his update all morning.

"Then send him in, Andrea", I grit out between my teeth before slamming the phone down. Rubbing my hands through my hair, I throw down my pen and let out a sigh. The deep expelling of breath does nothing to alleviate the pressure compounding my chest, but the little respite it gives me is an open welcome to say the least. It had taken up residence there, replacing the slow burn, building up gently against my rib cage from the moment Flynn instructed me to pack my bags and leave my home and my family.

It will help, he said. It will give Anastasia the space she needs to forgive me, he proclaimed. According to Flynn, the separation is supposed to help us to put our issues to rest and move on from, as Ana puts it, my lies and betrayal. Fucking Flynn. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with him. Considering the large sums of money I've paid him over the years, you'd think he would understand my motives and help me to convince Anastasia that all I want is to love and to protect her. But what has done? He's turned against me and disguised his bullshit advice as helpful counseling. Fuck him. The bastard has betrayed me and squandered what little trust I have left in him. He knows how much I fear abandonment. He witnessed it the first time Anastasia left me and still, he recommends that we need time apart. How does that solve anything? How does that change anything?

And what the fuck has changed in the six months since I've been relegated to an interloper, a passerby, a vouger; only being allowed to see my family during evening dinners and on the weekends. Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Anastasia hasn't forgiven me. She hasn't made any attempt to really reconcile our issues and bring our family back together. In fact, she's only dug her heels in, standing firm on this ridiculous notion that my so-called lies and betrayal have caused irreparable damage to our relationship.

I'm the first to admit that my decision to sell Grey Publishing behind Anastasia's back wasn't the smartest tactic in keeping her close. The smart thing would've been to sell it before she began dropping hints, so that when I did, my true motives wouldn't be so in question. But I panicked. Something I normally never do and allowed my fear of losing her to cloud my judgment. The pain in her eyes as she confronted me, the tears she spilled as she watched me pack my bags and leave in the middle of the night, tore at me and I understood for the first time the price of my actions.

So I conceded and went to Flynn with her, hoping he would help. I listened to them drone on and on about her independence, about my possessiveness, about my betrayal. And I sat through it, gritting my teeth, holding my temper, hoping to get through a few more session so I can have my family back. I took it all from them, without so much as a complaint and I realized that if I wanted to make things right, I had to relent a little, swallow my fears and loosen my grip on Anastasia.

To show her, how much she means to me, I presented her with a perfect solution to our problems; a way to appease my need to keep her safe and protected, while fulfilling her need to feel useful. I offered her a high position here at GEH, Vice President of Charitable Giving, in charge of allocating funds to worthy institutions . She balked at the offer and threw it back in my face, claiming that it is nothing more than a bullshit attempt to keep her in my sight and on a leash. _Smart girl. She's starting to see just how you operate. She caught on very well. Too bad she doesn't know just how low you are willing to go._ Shut the fuck up. She gave me no other choice. I tried to compromise and she threw it back in my face. I'm done fucking around. _Keep doing what you're doing champ. You're almost done. You've just about destroyed everything good that has ever happened to you.._

My door abruptly opens and I watch as the only man who has a better "don't fuck with me" attitude than myself, walks in and sits in the chair before me, without so much as a care. I suppose after working as a counter-terrorism analyst for the CIA, Welch has seen too much shit to even be a little impressed by a rich ego maniac prick like me. He looks me directly in the eyes whenever we speak, never wavering even when I'm on one of my tirades. He takes his lashings, one by one and leaves with a determination to never fuck up again. And for that reason alone, I actually like him. Not to mention he's fucking great at his job. Very diligent and thorough, no job is too hard and most of all, he doesn't shy away from getting his hands a little dirty when necessary. _Yeah, like the fool's errand you've been sending him on for the past few months. Invading your wife's privacy, undermining her self-worth. You can't do it yourself, so you send the hired help to do it for you; the ultimate deniability, but it won't work. Your hands are as dirty as his, Grey. You never learn._ There's nothing to deny. Anastasia started this. She gave me no choice, she refuses to see reason. I offered her a perfect opportunity and she shits on it. She make up stories and lies to me. She plots her

"Did you take care of everything?"

"It's all taken care of", Welch answers, his sharp brown eyes ignoring nothing and absorbing everything. I'm sure by now he's already examined every inch of me and determined I haven't fucked my wife in six months and jerked off in the shower just this morning. I hate his perceptiveness. It's advantageous when used for my own enrichment, but when directed at me it just makes me fucking angry.

"What the fuck took so long?"

"He proved much harder to convince than the others. I thought he would've been easy to influence since his shit company has maybe six months worth of life left in it and the man hasn't taken home a dime for himself in months. But the son of a bitch dug his nails in and refused me initially. Apparently he liked her a lot and had made up his mind already to offer her the position."

Hmm. I'm sure he fucking did. Having a young, sexy, beautiful woman like Anastasia walk into his office was probably a dream come true for the fucker. His company is going down the shitter and he wants to hire another employee; another mouth to feed when he can barely feed his own? Yeah, fucking right. He probably needs a distraction. Some form of entertainment to keep his mind off the fact that his life's work is absolutely worthless. Motherfucker. No wonder he's got such a fucking hard on (pun very much intended) to hire her. I can't have this. Motherfuckers seeing her day after day, salivating over her body, fantasizing about what's mine. _Not anymore, she isn't. You forfeit that right when you betrayed her trust. She finally saw the real you and kicked you out of her life. _I'm very much still in her life, you motherfucker. We maybe living a part for the time being, it's only temporary. Didn't you hear her? She still loves me. She's practically begging me to go back to Flynn with her so we can continue to work on our problems. _And yet, here you are still up to your old tricks. What would Anastasia think about all of this? Would she still want to work things out if she knew what you've been up to? Would she still love you? You and your secrets. You never learn._

"Sir?" I take in a deep breath again. The pressure contracts just a little, expanding against my lungs, fighting for preference in my chest. I wish it would go away.

"Yes. Go on. How did you get him to agree if he was so adamant"?

"I have to warn you, it got a little expensive. The other guys only wanted a few favors in return, but this one wanted cash and a lot of it".

"How much?"

"One point five and I kind of had to drop your name".

"What?" I bellow, the loud rupture of my voice vibrating in the room. True to form, Welch stares back at me, unphased. Which at the moment is annoying the shit out of me. "Didn't I fucking tell you it all needed to be anonymous? You fucking told him my name?"

"He wanted to know, sir. Like I said, Mr. Brooks wasn't too keen on someone looking into his finances and using it to pressure him into doing what they want. He wanted to know who was behind the cash and wouldn't budge until I told him where it came from. Like I said, he was pretty set on her and only changed his mind when he realized who you were?"

Fuck. I don't like this. I don't like this one fucking bit. Fucking Welch. I asked him to do one simple thing and he fucks it up. What's to stop this asshole from spilling everything to Anastasia after he gets the money? Fuck.

"Make him sign a NDA. I don't want any money going to that bastard until he signs it. And make sure Rich from Legal draws it up. I want this shit ironclad and very thorough".

"I've already taken care of it. I had Rich prepare it before hand. It's ironclad. If he opens his mouth about this to even his priest, you can go after him and take everything away from him".

"You better make sure he signs it, Welch. This can't come back to me. And tell Rich, this doesn't go any further than the three of us. No Ros, no Taylor. Got it". I may be a lot of things, but a fool isn't one of them. I write their checks and they report to me. But I would be a fool to think that Ros or Taylor for that matter will keep this matter to themselves and not utter one word of warning to Anastasia. Much to my chagrin, Anastasia has gotten very close to the staff and have garnered their affection and most assuredly their loyalty and without a doubt they would risk my wrath than to keep Anastasia in the dark. _Doesn't it seem odd that the paid help, values your wife's feelings more than you? You're supposed to be her lover, her protector her champion and yet you are her number one enemy and she doesn't even know it. How do you live with your self?_ That's fucking ridiculous. I don't know how anyone can accuse me of not wanting the best for Anastasia. I love her more than anything. All I'm doing is protecting her, preserving our family. Ugh, fuck it. I don't have to justify my actions to anyone, least of all to myself. I know what I'm doing is right. _Then why does your chest tells you differently?_

Shifting my weight in the chair, I wince, gripping my chest as the pressure builds just a fraction. I close my eyes, my breath coming in short deliberate pants, my pulse elevating, a cold sheet of sweat coating my body. No. Not this again. Not now. Not in front of him. Just wait until I leave and I'm alone in my white prison; crouched beneath the Madonna and Child, her judging eyes looking down on me. I'll take my punishment; you can take my breath then. Not now. I can't lose control, not when eyes are watching.

"If you put your head between your knees and take long deep breaths, it sometimes helps". The tightness in his voice portends his familiarity with this. His eyes keep trained on me, a shadow casting over it, seemingly traveling back to a time he's not so comfortable discussing. "I had a bad case after I left the agency. It happens sometimes, you know; when shit's not going good. It helps".

If only to preserve what's left of my sanity, I push back from the desk and lower my head between my knees. I feel like a fool; a weakling. Who the fuck does something like this? Only someone who can't handle their shit, someone out of control and broken. I'm far from that. My control may have slipped just a little, but I know my limits, I know when to bring myself back. _You haven't been able to so far. What are you going to do when the pressure gets too much and you can't control it? How will you release the build up pressure, Christian?_

One long breath in, one long breath out. I continue the pattern, taking in the air, loosing myself, as my lungs expand painfully inside my chest. Seconds pass; minutes wane. Ten, twenty, thirty breaths. On the last breath, I finally feel the air moving gently, falling into a natural rhythm, functioning as it should. The pressure recedes. Easing a little, but leaving just enough promise to still remain a factor. _It will always be there. It will never leave you. It will serve as a reminder of who you really are._

Lifting my head, my eyes immediately latches on to Welch's. He nods his head slightly, an acknowledgment passing between us, sealing the moment. A small ripple in the continuum of time, never to be thought of or discussed again. Good man. One breath in, one breath out.

"When will he be calling her?" I ask my voice firm, begging for normalcy.

"He should be taking care of it as we speak". I look at my watch, the Patek Philippe, the one Anastasia bought for my 30th birthday. The hour hand marks one, the minute at nine and for a fleeting moment the guilt of marking her disappointment on the gift she'd given me runs shamefully in my veins. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what's right. Is this how I keep her? Is this what will save us? No. I'm right. Anastasia refuses to see reason. She gave me no other choice.

"Once he lets her down".

"Transfer the funds from the Cayman account and make sure it's fucking untraceable…."

"Mr. Grey", Andrea's disembodied voice rattles off from the phone. Again my

"Yes, Andrea".

"I have Dr. Trevelyan-Grey on the phone..."

I sigh. Oh, Mother not now. I don't have it in me to pretend that everything's okay. I can't pass on your love to Anastasia when she won't accept mine. "Tell her I'm in a meeting and will call her back once I'm finished".

"Sir… She sounds very upset, like she's been crying. I thought you would want to know."

Crying? What the fuck? Grace Trevelyan Grey doesn't cry. She doesn't waste tears on frivolous circumstances. Something is wrong. Shit. "Andrea, put her through, now". One breath in, one breath out. "Mother".

"Christian, Darling. I'm sorry to bother you at work. I know how busy you are.…" Her voice breaks, stuck on a sob. One breath in; one breath out.

"Mother, what is it? What's wrong?" The steady breathing regulates my breath, but it does nothing for the raging onslaught of adrenaline traveling through my veins. My true nature comes alive, woken up by the innate reflexive need to protect what's mine. Something's wrong.

"You were the first person I thought of calling. Forgive me, I'm being silly I.. I..guess I just needed to hear your voice."

"Mom, what's wrong? Where are you?"

"I'm in my office. At the hospital".

"Stay right there, I'm coming to see you. Just stay in your office and wait for me, Mom. I'm leaving now. I'll be right there in fifteen minutes. Okay, Mom".

"Yes, darling. I'll be here. I'll always be here". She sniffles, her voice still raw with so much emotion. My mind races as I place the receiver onto the cradle. Is it Dad? Did something happen to him? Is that why she's called me at work, from her office in the middle of the day?

Grabbing my coat, I run pass my desk and out of the office. I see Welch loitering next to Andrea's desk speaking with her. I'd been so engrossed on the phone with my mother, I hadn't realized he'd left.

"Andrea I'm going to meet my mother and I don't want to be disturbed. If any business related matters come up, pass it along to Ros. Otherwise take a message and send it via e-mail".

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey. Mr. Welch already informed me to notify Taylor that you'll need the car. He should be out front now. And what about Mrs. Grey, Sir?"

"What about her?"

"You were scheduled to leave at two o'clock today, so that you and Mrs. Grey could pick Theodore up at school. You had me rearrange your schedule.."

"Fuck! Yes. I'll call Mrs. Grey and inform her on my way down". Glancing over at Welch, I motion to him. "Ride down with me".

"As soon as the transaction is completed, I'll let you know", he says as soon as we enter the express elevator.

"I want to know exactly what was said. Word for word. It'll give me some idea as to how I should proceed". He nods his head and walks along side me as we exit the elevator and proceed to the front entrance. "I won't have time to look through the background checks until much later, anything you think I should know?"

"Nothing that I think would put you or your family at risk. Parents are divorced. Father is a Child Psychiatrist, the mother and step-father are both Cardiologists at Seattle Medical Center. All three of them are well off. No large debts. Nothing to raise any red flags".

"Good. My son will be spending some time around them, and I want to make sure I don't have to worry about him while he's with them. So, there's nothing I should be worried about?"

"There was one thing, but I don't think it should be a problem".

"Don't you think I should be the one determining that?" Who the fuck writes the checks around here?

"The father, Dr. James Harper was arrested back in New York about two years ago for assaulting the step-father, Dr. Gregory Warmflash. The charges were dropped a few months later, just before his divorce became final. Considering the man caught his wife fucking her boss in his bed, I don't think it should be held against him. Plus, his record was clean before the incident and has been since." I close my eyes, shuddering at the thought. Dr. James Harper is a better man than me. A simple assault charge would not be the outcome if I ever caught Anastasia in my bed fucking another man. Murder would be more like it. Fuck. I pity the man who would have the balls to touch my wife, to ever try and take her away from me. The Harper's situation only proves my point. It justifies why it's important to keep Anastasia even more close. I'm doing the right thing.

"I'll read the rest of the background later. But keep a close eye on them and notify me if anything changes".

"Got it". He says immediately turning around and disappearing into the building.

As soon as I exit the building, the cold air hits my face shocking my senses. The prickly jabs from the wind, scrapes against my skin keeping my mind focus. I have to get to my mother. I still don't understand why she was so upset. Why does she need me? Why me?

As soon as he sees me, Taylor opens the back door to the SUV and steps aside, waiting for me to enter. I shake my head, telling him in no uncertain terms that I'll be driving myself. I need to be alone with my thoughts. I need the comfort of isolation to get me through. Something is brewing, something beyond my control. My mother needs me. Why me? Why not my father? Why not Mia or Elliot? Why me?

I wish Anastasia was here, sitting beside me. Her soft hand rubbing my arm, reassuring me that everything is fine. The world is in order. Everyone fits in their rightful compartment, safely tucked away from harm. Pulling out my Blackberry, I dial my home and wait for Anastasia's voice. It will calm me. It will put me back in order. The sound of Gail's voice disappoints me and when she tells me that Anastasia is in our bathroom taking a bath, the disappointment is short lived and relief sets in. I don't think I can bare to hear voice now. She must've heard from Brooks already, most likely soaking her sorrows and the barely contained traces of resentment that is always present will most likely be magnified. I don't think I can take it. I tell Gail to leave her be. To tell her that something came up and I'm unable to meet Teddy's friend with her. She will probably be upset with me and I wonder if she'll even care that I'm not there. My absence is probably for the best. You're such a coward.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, I make my way through the busy corridors, my heart pumping in my chest, a foreboding feeling leading the charge. I start off at a brisk pace, but as a myriad of questions and scenarios play through my mind, my feet gallops beneath me and stops right in front of her office. Before opening the door, I take a deep breath, my eyes landing on the nameplate beside it. _Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey, Department of Pediatrics, Chair. _My finger tips graze over the letters, passing each one before coming back to the first. Even though she is just behind the door, touching her name makes me feel closer to her. Why me? Why did she call me? Maybe she's spoken to Anastasia and she knows about our separation. And this is nothing but an ambush, another lecture on my failures as a son and now as a husband and father. Fuck this. I can't deal with this shit right now. _Coward!_ I'm no fucking coward. _Really? You won't face Anastasia and now you can't even face your mother. After all they've done for you; after all they've given you and still you cannot do right by them._ I love them. I would do anything for them. _Then go in there and face her._ _Shoulder whatever she gives you._ _Stop being such a selfish prick and do right by them._

Reaching out, I tentatively turn the knob and take a breath before pushing it in. Instantly my eyes lands on her seated behind her desk, her head in her hands, her small shoulders bobbing up and down. I stand there watching, my mouth dry, what little courage I had before waning. My world tilts on its axis, but somehow I manage to open my mouth, "Mom?"

At the sound of my voice, she instantly lifts her head, her deep blue eyes connecting to mine as long torturous tears run down her cheeks. Her beautiful face is marred by sadness and something so overwhelming it moves me until I am kneeling at her feet, grasping her hand. "Christian, you're here".

"Of course I'm here. I told you I would come to you. Why are you crying? What's the matter?"

"You didn't have to drop everything and come all the way over here just for me. I don't know why I called you. It was selfish of me really".

I'm trying my best to be as calm as possible. I don't want my temper to scare her, but my lack of patience is hanging dangerously from a terribly fragile string. What the fuck is the matter you? Tell me.

"Mom, listen. You have to tell me what's gotten you so upset. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Tell me. I can't make it better if you don't tell me".

She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, her lips parting. But it's a sad smile that doesn't light up her eyes and it does nothing to reassure me. Her radiance is dimmed, her usual glow gone. My body tightens into a screw, stopping my blood from flowing.

"I'm afraid, Christian," her lips trembles.

"Why?"

"That I'm going to die".

* * *

Sorry for the cliffy. I wanted to get this out to you guys and I thought this would be a good place to end.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's Note_: Hi Guys.. I hope everyone enjoyed their Christmas holiday. I had a wonderful time eating nonstop and just laying around the house. I'm so glad it's over. Well kind of, we still have the New Year. Anyway, this chapter is a bit wordy. I really need to edit myself, but it just kept flowing out of me. It's a bit dramatic, I was watching a few of my favorite dramas and it just took over my writing. Thanks again to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed. You're the best. I know I'm slow at updating, but you know how real life can be. Please review and let me know what you think. **

**Thanks again for reading and I hope you all have a happy and prosperous New Year!**

**I don't own anything. These amazing characters belong to E.L. James.**

Chapter Seven

_**Christian's Pov...**_

My heart stops. Right in my chest, it sits unmoved, unbeaten. Ten seconds, twenty seconds. I should be almost dead. The human body doesn't survive without a beating heart. It cannot live, it cannot breathe. It can't survive a shock like this. She's going to die? I can't wrap my mind around it, why would she say something like that?

A frisson of energy touches my hand, the feeling is almost ice cold and I wonder for a moment, how can something so cold, warm by entire body like this. Looking down, I see her slender hand rubbing against mine. The sight of it conjures up an old memory of that very same hand, rubbing a much smaller version of mine. It was the first time she'd touched me and as much as its warmth felt soothing against my cold skin, I'd pushed her off, my fear of being touched far stronger than any desire to be comforted. I remembered looking at her, thinking she was an angel come to save me. Her blonde hair falling on her shoulders in her white coat, her bright blue eyes filled with kindness. Even though I refused her touch, her presence still comforted me and I remembered wishing that she was my mommy.

Now, I wish I had let her comfort me. If I had known it would be so good and not determined forever, I would've allowed her to hold me much sooner. To caress me, to sing to me as she did with Elliot and Mia. I had refused her touch, even though I had a glimpse of the promise it held, I refused her tenderness and welcomed the harsh brutality of Elena. It was what the only thing I knew. I believed I didn't deserve it.

As she continues to rub my hand in that same comforting rhythm, I lay my head in her lap as her other hand travels through my hair and slowly smoothes it from my face. I know I should be acting, should be yelling and cursing and demanding answers. But I can't right now. Not when the need for her touch is so strong and so demanding. It's what I've been missing all along.

I've gone through the death of a mother before. Seen it first hand as the crackwhore's selfishness slowly ate at her until there was nothing left. But her death was not a surprise, it was written, her lifestyle guaranteed it. But Grace? My Angel? Dying? The woman who dedicated her life to the treatment of sick children? The woman who saw me in my rawest state and offered me her continuous love even though I rebuffed it, dying of cancer? At the thought, a loud sob wrenches from my gut and escapes my lips before I can stop it. I think it is the one, but it is a continuous flow of unchecked misery. No… No… This can't be happening.

"No..No…" I cry into her lap. I cringe at the sound. It sounds so pitiful, so weak.

"Oh, my darling, I know it's hard for you to hear, but it will be okay, we'll get through this. I promise you ." Her voice coos as she continues her ministrations in my hair. Her voice is soft and soothing, but it does nothing to calm me. It only tightens my gut. Our roles should be reversed. I should be holding her, soothing her with my words. Not lying in her lap, crying like a baby. What kind of man am I?

Lifting my head from her lap, I get up from the floor, disconnecting myself from her. I miss her touch, but it distracts me. It takes my mind to unwelcomed places and weakens my resolve. I need to be strong. I need to be focused. I need to be in control of myself. Pacing the floor, my mind is on overload, dissecting and processing the situation. I have to fix this. I have to make this go away.

"Christian."

"No. No. This isn't possible, they made a mistake. This isn't possible."

"Christian, sweetheart, it isn't a mistake," she says, voice still calm.

"How can you be so sure? Doctor's misdiagnose patients with terminal illnesses all the time when they are perfectly fine. Obviously something went wrong." I continue pacing, moving around the room keeps my mind on the matter at hand. Pacing is good.

"Christian…."

"We'll get a second opinion. Preferably with someone who knows what the fuck they're doing. Obviously these idiots don't."

"Christian…"

I continue pacing. Round and round. In a circle without end. I keep my eyes on my feet, willing them to keep moving, don't stop. If I stop, I will have to look at her and then what good will I be? "I'll fucking sue them. Every fucking one of them for putting you through this."

"Christian, no. Stop this, right now", she says sternly, her voice lifting in that manner it does whenever she's upset. It's a passing joke amongst us, her inability to yell or scream. She just isn't made that way. Not a harsh bone in her body. I watch her closely as she gets up from behind the desk and walks over to me, her head high, her shoulders squared. Taking my hand in hers, she urges me to face her. The look she gives me is firm yet loving. How can she be so calm, so brave? She doesn't deserve this. "I know you're upset, darling. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but acting like this doesn't change anything."

"I'll find the best doctor's, mom. We'll get a second opinion."

"Darling, this was the second opinion."

Stepping back I pull my hand away from her grasp, a look of horror on my face. What? "How long have you known?"

Fresh tears, clouds her eyes, "I've known for a while," she admits turning around and walking away. She sits down on the couch adjacent to her desk and exhales deeply. "A few months ago, I went in for my annual exam with Dr. Anderson and the results came back abnormal. She performed a biopsy and it picked up cancer cells not only in my breasts, but in my lymph nodes as well. It's spread, Christian. Cancer cells were found in my liver."

I stare at her unable to speak, the enormity of her revelation obstructing my throat. She can't die. I won't allow it. I'll do anything even if I have to give up everything I own in the process. "Then we'll get better doctors. I'll take you to Switzerland, Germany, or France. Wherever. There are clinics all over Europe that are trying experimental treatments and possible cures. Whatever you need, mother, I'll do it. I'll do anything. I don't care how much it costs. We just need to find the best doctors in the world. We'll fight this. No matter what it takes, I'll find you a cure. Even if I have spend every single dime to my name. I'll make this better for you."

She smiles up at me sadly, her eyes forecasting her wariness. Her radiance has dimmed, she doesn't shine as brightly as she usually does, and the thought of never seeing her like that again is almost too much for me to take. Extending her hand to me, she beckons me to her. I walk, in a daze taking her hand, sitting beside her. "I love you so much, and I appreciate your willingness to try and make me better. But I have to determine what's best for me and this family. Christian, I'm a doctor. I know when there is hope and when there isn't. I don't want to waste my time chasing cures, when all I want to do is be with my family."

"What are you saying? What do you mean? Of course there's hope. All we have to do is find the best treatments and you'll be fine."

"Christian, I don't know if I want to go through all of that," she gets up from the couch frustrated.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don't tell me you're planning on giving up and just let the shit kill you. Why would you do something like that? What about your family? Don't we get a say in this?

"Of course you do. It's just that I want to make the right decision. I…."

"The right fucking decision is to stop this bullshit about not wanting to chase cures and let me find the best doctors. I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around and let you give up and let this shit kill you. I won't allow it."

"Do you think I want to die? Do you think I want to leave my family? I want to see my grandbabies grow up and get married and have children of their own. I want that more than anything, Christian. But I won't. I won't be able to see them, Christian. Even if I go through a barrage of treatments, experimental or otherwise, there is still no guarantee that I'd even make it five years, three years or even a year. I don't want to spend my limited time bed ridden. I want to be up and available for Mia's birth. I want to see Phoebe graduate Kindergarten and Teddy play baseball. I don't want to be tucked away at some clinic in Geneva, getting poked and prodded all in a vain attempt to extend my life. That won't be living Christian. I'll miss out on all the things that's important to me, for something that's not guaranteed."

Looking at her, I'm speechless. The determination in her eyes is jarring, her steely conviction almost toppling mine. But my resolve is much stronger and I will not let her do this. She has to fight goddamit. She can't leave me.

"You sound like you've made up your mind," I whisper.

"I have. I can't go through it Christian. If it hadn't spread so far, then yes, I would do anything in my power to get better. Take any drug. But it's gone too far.."

"What about dad? What does he want you to do?"

She looks down at her hands. A gesture I've grown accustomed to, one that my wife has perfected. "You're the only one who knows. I haven't told Carrick or your brother and sister. Carrick has been so busy with this trial. He calls it his legacy case. He's been so focused on it and I don't want to be a bother to him and Mia, she's having such a difficult time with the pregnancy, she doesn't need the added stress on her. As for Elliot, I don't know. Something's not right with him. I'm not sure what exactly is going on, but something isn't right between him and Kate. I don't want to burden them."

For a brief moment, my heart splits open as an avalanche of childhood fears and insecurities pours down on me. There was a time, not too very long ago, when I thought my mother's love extended over Carrick, Elliot and Mia and stopped just short of where I stood. Not because she didn't love me as much as them, but because I thought I didn't deserve it. Now I have to wonder. She refuses to disrupt their well put together lives. But me, she has no trouble laying this brick on - Making me shoulder this burden all by myself, while they carry on.. I envy their ignorance. _After all you've put her through, don't you think this is the least you can do for her. Help her through this; be there for her._

"They're not like you," she says quietly, her hand taking mine. "They're not strong as you are – Mia and Elliot. You've always been so strong, so determined. You've gone through so much in your life and yet you overcame it all. You've beaten back every horrible thing that have ever happened to you and I guess, I needed some of your strength. I needed you."

Lifting my hands, I cup her face, taking in her beauty. As my eyes quietly roams over her face, it occurs to me that sometime in the near future, I'll never get to see her face again. Yes, in pictures and in home videos, but never in person, never like this. And I feel like a complete shit. All those wasted years. All those years, I stayed away from her, guarding my privacy. Committing sin after sin with Elena and little brown haired girls; trying to exact revenge on a mother that didn't give a shit about me, when the one who did was somewhere waiting for me. And now, she'll be gone.

"I don't want them to know, Christian."

"What? That's absolutely ridiculous. Of course you have to tell them. This isn't something irrelevant, like changing your hair color or taking a trip to Europe. This is your health. You have to tell them. Especially Dad. Do you know what it will do to him when he finds out you kept this from him. It will kill him. No, I refuse to do this. Don't ask me to."

"Fine, fine. I'll tell your father, and I'll speak it over with him, but I can't tell Mia and Elliot. Not yet. Not when so much is going on."

"You discuss that with Dad. See what he says and I'll respect what the two of you decide. But I have to tell Anastasia . I can't keep something like this from Anastasia."

"I would ask you to hold off, but I understand your need to tell her. You're going to need your wife to get through this. Knowing you have Anastasia and the kids, make this so much easier for me. I use to worry so much about you. You seemed so lonely, so cut off. And then you found her and she opened you up and brought you to me." No truer words have ever been said. Anastasia saved me from myself and allowed me to open myself up to love. She made me realize what I'd been missing and for that I owe her everything. _But yet you've done nothing but take from her._

"She's my life." I say more to myself than to my mother.

"Then hold on to that. When things get too much to handle, turn to her and take care of each other. I know with Anastasia's love, you can get through anything", she says in her ignorance. She doesn't know. _And it's best to keep it that way._

Her words slap me across the face, cutting deeper than anything I've ever endured. The pain stings me, knocking me back to the reality that Anastasia is slowly slipping through my fingers. She's kicked me out; forced to stand her ground against my unfounded insecurities. What were they again? I can't even remember; their importance so insignificance in light of recent events.

"Come", I say to my mother as I grasp her hand, a new determination moving me. "I'll take you home. We'll call dad on the way, so he'll meet us there. If you'd like I can stay while you tell him."

She takes her time, removing her white doctor's coat before replacing it with her camel winter coat. Combing her fingers through her hair, she smiles at me and for the first time since seeing her, her face glows in that special way.

"No. I'll do it myself", she says as she takes my hand and leads me out of her office, to the parking lot. "I love you, Christian."

"I love you too, mom."

_**Anastasia's Pov...**_

"Mommy, look at me", Teddy screams as he kicks the soccer ball across the field, making noises I've never heard outside the familiarity of our home. It's so odd seeing him like this. Relaxed and carefree, much like what a seven year old should be.

"I see you Teddy Bear", I yell back and I can't help but to smile at the scowl he gives me for calling him his baby name. I guess that's something I need to get use to. My baby is no longer a baby anymore. He's a big boy, growing into his own and changing before my eyes.

The boys are on the field, kicking around the ball along with James. Even though the temperature is a bit cold, they insist on playing and what was supposed to be only a few minutes has now gone on for over thirty minutes with little end in sight. I doubt I would be able to end it even if I tried. Especially with James, the bigger kid of the bunch, being the ring leader of the "let's play soccer in the freaking cold" brigade. Oh my god. The puppy dog faces they'd made, all in an effort to sway me into staying longer and letting them fool around on the field. Too hilarious.

Much to my surprise, James is actually nice, funny even. A part of me was dreading meeting Jeremy's parents. As much as I love the idea of Teddy making friends, the truth is, I've always been suspect of people's intentions. Everyone knows who the children's father is, and somewhere or other the conversation always veers towards Christian. But James seems to be the complete opposite of most parents at Seattle Prep. After briefly asking after him, he hasn't brought up Christian's name again or declared his admiration. He's been more interested in getting to know Teddy and playing with the boys, making them feel at ease. He's so good with them, I guess it's the Child Psychiatrist in him. His gregarious and carefree personality is a refreshing change from the snobby, rich, tight ass parents at the school and of all the kids Teddy could've picked, I'm glad it was Jeremy. I only wish I could've met his mother. I hope she's as laid back as he is. But I wonder how laid back a Cardiologist can be. Maybe that's why they're divorced.

Looking down at my watch, I gasp at the time. Where did the time go? It's almost four thirty in the afternoon. It's getting close to dinner, almost time to go home. Letting out a sigh, I close my eyes briefly as my heart cringes at the thought. Christian will be there. Fuck. I really don't want to see him. Not now. Not after everything he's done. For a few precious moments, watching the carefree play of children helped numb the pain and give me just a little respite to forget and now it's time to face reality. I really wish I could forget. I wish I could forget that the man I love more than anything in the world, doesn't wish me well. I wish I could forget his continuous lies and betrayals and just ignore the fact that he has dedicated time and money to sabotaging my self worth. But I can't. Not anymore. Not when it's staring me directly in the face. Christian has made it plain for me to see and as much as I want to forget, it's just not possible. I don't know how I am going to face him. How am I supposed to sit across the table from him and eat a meal, all the while knowing that he's been intentionally building roadblocks and making bribes, all in an attempt keep me subjugated to him?

How didn't I know he would do something like this? It's Christian Grey for godsakes. The man who bought SIP so he could keep an eye on me in order to keep me "safe." Bullshit. Christian doesn't sit back and let things happen. He manipulates them and bends them against their will. He does whatever he wants and doesn't give a fuck about anything else or how much it hurts the people he claims to love. All this time I thought I was being discreet about my interviews. Not saying a word to anyone except for Gail, even keeping Flynn in the dark. But all this time he's been spying on me. I can't even wrap my mind around how he found out. I know in my heart it wasn't Gail. She's known Christian longer, but I feel we've gotten close enough that she would keep my secrets and stay loyal to me. And I don't think it is Jason either. Even if Gail told him about it, I truly don't feel that he would betray Gail's confidence. Unlike my husband, he respects her and would put her feelings first. No. It has to be some other way. I know Ryan, and Reynolds report my every move to him, but the fact that his reach is so long and invasive makes me so fucking mad.

I'm so stupid. So fucking gullible. He's accused me of being naïve and too ready to believe the good in people and I guess in a way he's right. All those interviews; all those times I left each one feeling confident, almost sure that I had it wrapped up and in the bag. And everyone, every fucking one, called me within hours and told me they decided on a different course. It just didn't seem right to me. My gut told me that something was wrong, but I never thought in a million years that Christian would go to such lengths to keep me in my place. It just goes to show how much love can blind you. I know my husband and I know what kind of possessive control freak he is, so there is no reason why I should be surprised by this. I thought him selling Grey Publishing behind my back was bad. But this? How can we come back from this? How can I ever trust him again? _You can't. He'll never change completely for you. Now the question is, can you live with it or are you going to sit and take it like a good little wife?_

Feeling my mood shifting down drastically, I push Christian out of my mind and concentrate on the people on the field. I have an eternity to sit and think about that man, now is the time to focus on Teddy. Ryan has joined the group, showing of his prowess with a soccer ball by continuously bouncing it on his feet, then his knee and at the boys delight, on his head. He kicks it to Teddy and I watch as my son tries to emulate Ryan's actions despite the bulk of his winter coat.

As Ryan takes over and begins to instruct the boys, I notice James looking at me from the corner of my eye. I turn to face him and just as our eyes meet, he smiles and walks towards where I'm sitting on the grass. Before he can reach me, I try as gracefully as possible to stand on my feet, but because my name is Clumsy McClutson, it doesn't go as planned and I stumble just as he reaches me.

"Wow there, you need some help?" He asks as he extends a large hand to me, his smile is dazzling and I quickly divert my eyes feeling a bit uncomfortable. A searing heat rises in my face and I can only imagine how red my cheeks are. I feel flustered. Out of sorts. God, I hope he doesn't notice. _Well, well, well. Look at you. I guess Christian isn't the only one who can affect you like this. Your husband pisses you off and you start looking at other men. Tsk, tsk, tsk. _Oh, shut up. He's not affecting me in anyway. He's a good-looking guy. I can appreciate that. Besides, I'm not fucking dead. Just married to an egomaniac narcissist. But not dead. _Whatever!_

"Yes, please." I mutter under my breath, reaching for his hand. As soon as I take it, my eyes focus on our joining hands in wonder as the same warm feeling as earlier radiates from his palm and submerges into mine. It feels so good, running up my arm, flushing the cold away from my body and as soon as he lifts me to my feet, I reluctantly pull it away. God, Anastasia. Grow the fuck up. What are you, twelve? Brushing the dirt and grass off my ass, I finally get the courage to look up at him, his bright hazel eyes shining against the setting sun. His wavy brown hair brushes the collar of his navy cable knit sweater, the sun picking up subtle hues of auburn in it. "Thank you."

"No problem. You look a little lonely sitting over here all by yourself. Why don't you come on to the field and join us? The boys are having a lot fun."

"Oh, no. Not me. I'll just ruin everything for them. If you haven't noticed, I'm not the most coordinated person in the world and knowing my luck I'll probably trip over my feet and break my neck."

He laughs a deep laugh, his head falling back. He looks down at me, his lips curving devilishly, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Actually, I did notice. I was just trying to be nice."

For a split second, my mouth drops, shocked by his audacity. If his eyes weren't so telling, I would be affronted by his casualness. "Excuse me. You've only known me for a little under two hours and already you're making fun of me. That's very rude, Dr. Harper."

"Ha, if you call me Dr. Harper again, I might just have to keep making fun of you."

Pursing my lips, I suppress a smile as I roll my eyes. "Fine. But that was still very rude of you, James."

"Jamie. My friends call me Jamie."

"Well, people who don't make fun of my clumsiness, call me Ana."

"That's good to know. I'll keep that in mind for future reference, but I get a feeling I'll be making fun of you a lot, Anastasia."

"Oh my god", I shake my head incredulously. "You're a bit of an asshole, aren't you?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. Oh, God. There I go again. Letting unchecked crap out of my mouth without a filter. He probably thinks I'm some kind of freak. Ugh. Thank god Christian isn't here. _Yeah, for more reason than one I'm sure. _What the hell is that supposed to mean? _Nothing._

"Only to the people I really like." Is he flirting with me? No, that would be weird. He knows that I'm married for god's sakes. Anastasia, get a grip.

"Then if that's the case, you must like me a lot", I respond meeting his gaze. He regards me intently for a beat, his beautiful eyes, bursting with flecks of amber and green are still holding mine. His smile grows smaller and for a few seconds, I feel as if I've said something wrong. Maybe I did offend him by calling him an asshole. As I open my mouth to apologize to him, the corners of his mouth lifts up again, showing off his dimples and he says, "Yeah, I think I really do."

My breathing changes a little, as a small flutter of wind passes over us, shifting a strand of his thick wavy hair onto his forehead. Unconsciously, my hand moves from my side, slowly making its way upwards towards his face and it is only the sound of Teddy's loud laughter that stops it from doing something incredibly inappropriate. Saving myself from embarrassment, I nonchalantly run my hand into my hair, pushing a loose strand behind my ears. My face heats up and I could do nothing but lower my gaze from his. What the fuck is wrong with me? This isn't right. What is this? I've never felt anything like this with anyone except for Christian. Feeling the inexplicable urge to look into his eyes, I glance up at him sheepishly beneath my lashes and his eyes are expectant. As if he's willing my eyes to meet his. He regards me in that way; that close inspection that seems as if he's trying to read deep inside me. I don't understand this. I know I should look away, but my eyes keep tethered to his. Does he feel he feel it too? As his lips part and the electric blue irises are absorbed by blackness, I get my answer. This isn't right, I have to look away.

"Umm." I try to think of something to say. Something witty to cut through the thick air around us. "Ah…"

"Mommy," Teddy screams. His voice does the job for me, breaking the connection as both he and Jeremy runs between us. As soon as he stands next to me, his grey eyes beaming, I take a step back, moving as far away from James as possible. I feel as if I've just been caught doing something wrong, something shameful. I'm married for godsakes. Things like this shouldn't happen. I shouldn't feel this way with anybody but my husband. We may be going through a rough patch, but that doesn't give me the right. What kind of wife am I? I need to get out of here.

Looking down at Teddy, I take his arm, positioning him in front of me, keeping him as a buffer between James and me. "Hey honey, we have to get going now. It's getting late and Phoebe will be back from ballet class soon."

"Come on, mom. Please let us stay, just a little longer. We're having fun, right Dr. Jamie?" He whines as both he and Jeremy looking at James. I roll my eyes, not the puppy face.

With his face amused, James bends down coming to eye level with the boys. "Listen guys, I perfected that look, so don't even try it, it's not going to work on me. Secondly, we had a lot of fun, but it's time to go home. I don't know about you, but I worked up quite an appetite and I'm ready for my dinner..."

"Yes, Teddy and don't forget, daddy will be home soon for dinner," I interrupt, my eyes flitting briefly to James' before going back to Teddy's. I don't know why I said it. Maybe to remind him or myself for that matter, that I'm very much married.

"Okay, mommy," Teddy acquiesce, the allure of his father too enticing to pass up. "My daddy knows how to fly a plane, Dr. Jamie. He's going to teach me how to fly when I get older."

"Wow, that's great buddy. Maybe when you learn how to fly, you can teach me and Jeremy."

They laugh together as James extends his hand to Teddy and gives him a high fives "Okay."

"We better go. It was nice meeting you James." I keep my hands at my side, fearing to touch him again.

"It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Ana," he replies. His smile doesn't sit as dazzling on his lips anymore. It smolders at me, the messenger of something hidden behind his eyes. Nodding my head, I turn away from him, my lips spread in a tight smile. My hands grip Teddy's arms as we walk towards our car, more for support than anything else.

"I had a lot of fun today, mommy," Teddy says looking up at me, his grey eyes burning with a familiarity that only stokes a wave of guilt.

"I know, baby. Jeremy is a nice boy. I'm glad you have him."

"Mommy."

"Mmmm."

"I wish dad was here."

Looking down at my son, I smile at him. It is all that I can do as I measure his words. He's said those words to me, countless times in his brief seven years. I've held him afterwards, binding him in the knowledge that his mother knows how he feels. Looking away from him, I shut my mouth, afraid of what will come out. Afraid that I will admit that for the first time in his life, I don't feel the same way.

**Christian pov...**

Pulling up in the drive way, I let out a sigh as I look at the quiet house. The heaviness of the past six months bears down on my shoulders and for the first time in my adult life, I doubt my strength. I feel tired, completely spent. My body has held up through a lot, gone through insurmountable amounts of pain, some welcomed, some not. But all of this? I don't know how I'll be able to make it. I need Anastasia. I don't think I've ever needed her love and reassurance more. _Then you know what you have to do? You have to face her. Fess up to everything and beg for her forgiveness. _I will. I'll do whatever it takes. We have to resolve this and put this ridiculous fight to rest. It has served no purpose; done nothing but tear us apart and undermine everything we've worked so hard for. If anything, I've learned is that tomorrow isn't promised and no matter how much I fear losing Anastasia to another man, the fact is I can lose her by some other means. My father can attest to that. His world has just crashed down beneath him and I'm sure he would do anything to save his wife. I have mine - waiting for me, loving me despite my insurmountable flaws. I have to make this right.

Walking into the house, I feel a sense of loss as the quiet welcomes me. It is the same house - our house, but the feeling of not belonging claws at my skin as I make my way through the house towards the light coming from the kitchen. As I walk in, I see Anastasia sitting at the kitchen table, deep in thought, a cup of tea sitting before her. She doesn't acknowledge my presence, but I know she senses my approach by the subtle shift of her head. There's so much I want to say. So many wrongs to rectify. Where do I start?

**Anastasia pov….**

I smell him before I see him. His unique scent traveling the distance to the kitchen long before he enters. My body automatically responds to the scent, so use to its closeness and what it usually signifies. I hate that it does that. It's been almost six months, but there will be none of that tonight. I'm fucking pissed at him, goddamit. _I'm surprised he still does it for you. I was beginning to get worried. _Oh, shut up.

Not acknowledging him as he walks into the kitchen, I keep my head trained before me, waiting for him to make the first move. His foot steps falter a bit as he sees me and I pray for the strength to get through this. I've gone through the night in a daze, fielding my children's incessant questions about their father and his absence. Phoebe was so disappointed, Teddy even more so, both crying as they realize they will be going another day without seeing their father. I wonder if it's worth it. This stubborn stand off between Christian and I. No one is winning. Everyone's loosing - especially the children_. He's winning. He's taken so much from you. Don't let him off the hook, confront him. Make him take responsibility for everything he's done. _

As I take another sip of my tea, he takes the seat beside me and slumps down low in the seat as if he'd just walked a thousand miles. He's still dressed fully in a dark navy suit, white shirt, his tie loosened around his neck. His face looks worn, tired, marred by something worrisome and troubling. My mind wonders briefly on his sleep. Perhaps the nightmares are back, without me sleeping beside him. Shit, I hadn't thought of that. _Tough shit for him. He should've thought about that before he set his sights on destroying your dreams._ She's right. As long as he refuses to take care of me, I can't take care of him.

"How're the kids?" He finally asks, after sitting in silence for over a minute.

"How do you think they are?" I bite out, my words coming much harsher than expected. I thought I would've had a better handle on my anger, but I guess it runs deeper than I thought. "They waited for you all night after you promised you would be here. They've noticed your absence Christian and there's but so much I can tell them to make them feel better. They miss their father."

**Christian Pov...**

"I know they miss me, Anastasia. I miss them too, more than you know," I respond, trying to keep my head level, my temper cool. The old me would've lashed out by now, would've pointed out that the children are hurting because of her. It was her bright idea that I move out, but I hold my tongue and try my best to diffuse the situation before it ignites into something explosive. "I would've been here a lot sooner. But... Anastasia. So much has happened. I miss you so much, baby. I thought I could handle this, but the separation... It's too much for me." The need for her becomes overwhelming as I try to explain myself. I've never gone this long without her before and her close proximity only stokes my desire. The way her breasts rise and fall beneath her silk robe, makes me think about what's underneath it. If only I could hold her, even just for a while.

Without thinking I reach for her. My hand cupping her face, pulling her to me. I nibble her lips but her body stiffens in my arms, it's not as pliant as it used to be. "Christian stop," she says, pushing against me. "Stop. You always do this. Whenever we're fighting, you try to seduce me into submission with sex. Well, it's not going to work. Not now. Not after everything." She tightens her robe to her body, gets up and walks away from the table. Her chin held high in defiance.

"That's not what I'm doing. Not this time. I only miss you, baby. I...just...need you," I try to get out the words, but it's so hard. I feel as if my brain is paralyzed, stuck in fear mode not able to function properly. "Anastasia. I want to work things out. There's so much I have to tell you. I just want to work things out."

Taking me by surprise, she lets out a laugh. It's acerbic tone not going pass my ears. "Give me a fucking break. _You_ want to work things out? I've heard those words before and so far it doesn't mean shit to me."

"I know, I haven't tried my hardest. But after everything that's happened, I realize it's not important, anymore. I want my family back."

**Anastasia pov...**

His words sound so familiar as they leave his mouth. I've heard them countless times in the last six months and they no longer ring true to my ears. We've done this back and forth, where he pledges his understanding. But we both know what he does when my back is turned.

"I went on an interview today. It's a small publishing company, downtown. I thought for sure I would've been a shoe in, but low and behold he calls me a few hours later and tells me he won't be able to hire me. Why would he do that, Christian?" I ask him, presenting it to him, laying it out in the open. There's no where for him to hide. He knows I'm on to him. Now the question is, will he deny it.

Eyeing me wearily, he swallows hard not answering me. "You don't have anything to say? Do you want me to say it for you? Do you want me to spell it out? I know. I know what you've been up to," I scream at the top of my lungs. "I know that you've paid, probably millions of dollars to sabotage me. I know you've been invading my privacy and having your goons watch me and report everything back to you. I know every low down, under handed thing you've done behind my back."

"No.. It's not what you think," he says, his face ashen. He takes a timid step towards me and I take a strong one back. It's a facade, a charade I'm putting on. Inside I feel like falling to the ground, curling up on myself and letting him take me to bed. But I can't. The anger propels me. It moves my mouth and feeds every accusation pouring out of it. I hear myself cursing him and as I see his face flinching from my words, I begin to pay attention. "You don't love me. If you did, you wouldn't have done this. You're just a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. Ever since you came into my life, you've done nothing but take it over so you can mold me into your little submissive. But I'm not. I'm my own person. You don't fucking own me."

**Christian pov...**

Her words are sharp, cutting and slashing its way through my heart. I've never seen her like this. Never heard her spew words so venomous. I should walk away, but every syllable only jabs at an open sore and I find myself coiled tight ready to attack.

"Will you just stop your fucking whining", I roar. "If I have to hear about this stupid shit for another second, I'm going to fucking lose it. There are more important shit going on in the world than you working some stupid job, that does nothing for us, other than to satisfy some ridiculous selfish need you have." She steps back from me as if slapped her in the face. I should stop. I feel myself driving towards a cliff unable to stop. I try to press on the brakes, but my anger only accelerates, moving dangerously close.

"My needs are not the ridiculous one in this relationship. Your outrageous need to control everything around you is. If you wanted a fucking submissive, then you should've married one."

"Do you know how many women would love to be in your place? Do you know how many mothers would love the opportunity to be with their kids? To love them. To hold them. To keep them safe. You have every fucking thing you could ever want, and still, that's not enough." I glower above her, our faces almost touching. Through the fog of anger, a part of me wants to lean my lips in and capture hers, releasing all my anger, hurt and frustrations in her. "Go. Go out there, go tend to your career and put yourself first. But if anything happens to our children, I know who to fucking blame."

**Anastasia pov...**

My hand makes contact with his face before I know what I'm doing. It leaves a stinging burn on the surface of my palm and it brings to mind the last time I slapped anyone so hard. It was seven years ago in Aspen, back to a time when we were so happy. I wonder if our younger selves saw us now, what would they think. They wouldn't believe it. This isn't them.

He doesn't respond to my hit. He only continues to glower down at me, stoned faced, without reaction and it only fuels my need to draw blood. " Fuck you. How dare you? I would never let anything happen to my children," I yell between sobs. I know the words that are coming before I say them. I wish I could swallow them. But they rush out of my mouth like a raging volcano and splashes all over his face. "I'm not your crackwhore mother. I actually love my children. I wouldn't sit there and let them get hurt and abused. Your mother did that to you, not me. So don't take your shit out on me."

As the each word passes my lips, I instantly regret them. He's stoned face, not reacting, never flinching as they hit him one by one. I cry inwardly for him, for us. And as we look at each other, eyes blazing, passions stoked, I realize we've crossed some imaginary line. A point of no return. My fingers burn with a need to touch him, but as his eyes continue to burn into mine, for the first time since we first met, I'm afraid to touch him. I'm afraid of what he'll do. His eyes move to my lips one last time and before I can open my mouth to apologize, he turns on his heels and quickly walks away without saying a word. I keep my legs up only by sheer will and it's not until I hear the loud slamming of the front door that I release them and let myself fall to the floor. Oh, god. What have I done?

* * *

**So, next chapter we'll be back to the present. A creative writing instructer once told me that in order for the reader to grasp a story, you must show not tell them the story. I wanted you guys to get a feel of how this amazing couple could go from being so in love to Anastasia accepting someone elses proposal and Christian being so cut off. Next chapter we'll see what went on behind Chrisitan's closed office door and what his reaction will be to Anastasia engagement. We'll also be delving into their lives and seeing how things are going for them as they lead separate lives. Thanks again for riding with me. I hope you guys still find it interesting. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So sorry for the delay. Writer's block, real life and some very clingy kids. I rewrote this chapter last night and there are some errors still in it. I will go back and edit for you guys. Don't judge me. Thanks to everyone who reviews, favorite and follow the story. Thanks to the Facebook girls who encourage me to get my ass in gear and write a damn chapter. I hope you guys like it. It was a hard chapter.** **Don't for get to review. I'd love to hear what you guys think.**

**I don't own anything. They all belong to E.L. James**

Chapter Eight

She scans the document slowly with cold deliberative care. I watch her face intently, waiting for a twitch, a raised eyebrow or something to give her thoughts away. But nothing seeps through, nothing cracks her facade. A true professional indeed. _Oh the possibilities._

As she finishes reading the entire document, she lays the papers on the coffee table between us and looks up, directly meeting my eyes. As our eyes meet, a dark longing lick my tongue and it takes all of my strength not to command her to look away. She came in into my office proud and belligerent with her Harvard Law School degree, making demands, determined to beat the lion at his own game in his own den no less. Oh no. The lion may have been sedated, may have lost his appetite for the kill. But make no mistake; he's still very much alive and in the mood for fresh meat.

It would be such a pleasure to break this one, to bend her to my will – to completely obliterate every single self-indulgent thought and desire she's ever had until there is nothing left. Until she's a weeping mess on the floor, clinging to nothing except for her desire to please me. Hmm.. A pleasure indeed. _I'm glad to see you're accepting your true nature. This is who you really are. A sadistic piece of shit that only wants break spirits. She not your usual type, but maybe it will be just what you need. Try it._

"This is very thorough, Mr. Grey," she says. Her face is impassive as she continues to look at me, but I see her deep brown eyes dancing, coming alive with mischief and anticipation.

"I like to have all my bases covered. It keeps all involved parties on the same page, so there aren't any future misunderstandings." She licks her lips, drawing my attention to them. I shift slightly in my chair. "Does it meet your approval, Ms. Bishop?" She gives me a smile, a knowing one, almost as if she's read my mind.

"Overall it looks good, but there are a few things I'd like to amend."

"And what would that be, Miss. Bishop?" She cocks her head to the side, her glossy black hair, grazing her shoulders, a smirk plastered all over her face.

"Like I would tell you anything before discussing it with my client first. Is that how you do business, Mr. Grey?" She asks looking up at me between long lashes.

I smile, a genuine one in possibly months. "No, not at all. But I would remind you that this is a good price, Ms. Bishop. I'm usually not this generous, so if I were you, I would consider myself lucky and encourage my client to accept it."

She sits back against the couch, her arms folded, "And here I thought we were negotiating."

"We were. But I'm not willing to accept anything less than this. You can take it or leave it."

She blinks at me in response, her cool and well coiffed demeanor quickly crumbling brick by brick. Her eyes are dark as she scans me, their feral intensity, signaling that she's not ready for defeat. Oh this one's a fighter. I wonder if she'll have this much fight in her after she feels the burn of a cane or the sting of a crop against her ass. The vision is so clear as a scene plays in my mind; her suspended covered in rope, her arms tied tightly behind her back with no room to move. She's at my mercy with every hole and crevice completely on show, just waiting to be fucked. Her skin maybe darker, but I am certain with just the right amount of force, her ass will brighten and redden all the same. _Oh the possibilities._

"Mr. Grey. You're telephone is ringing," she says pointing in the direction of my desk. My office phone rings loudly again, stopping just before coherency reaches me. "You zoned out for a minute there, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. My mind was else where for a moment. I have another business deal that's not working out as planned," I respond getting up from the coach across from her and walking to my desk. Andrea knows better than to interrupt me while I'm in a meeting, so her calling must be some kind of emergency. This better be good. As I make my way towards the desk, my feet are momentarily halted by laughter.

"I'll make sure the next time we're together to be more entertaining. I don't want you getting bored or anything?"

She's flirting with me. Hmm, let's see how far we can take this. Our business is about to be concluded. Once that's done, there will be no conflicts. "You have a very smart mouth, Ms. Bishop".

"You should see me when I really put it to use, Mr. Grey," she quickly replies.

Before I can reply my phone rings again. The display showing that it's Andrea calling again. Annoyed, I pick up the phone. "What. I'm in a meeting".

"I know, Mr. Grey. But Ana... I mean Mrs. Grey. She's here to see you, sir". My heart beats guiltily in my chest as my eyes connect with Ms. Bishop as she studies me. Fuck. Anastasia is here!

"Is something wrong? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I sent you a few messages, but you didn't respond. That's why I've been calling".

"Fine. We're finishing up now. Tell her I'll be out momentarily".

"She's just went into the ladies room. I'll tell her you'll see her in a few min..." I hang up the phone before she could finished, annoyed by her lack of sense. Why didn't she interrupt me as soon as Anastasia arrived in the building?

Anastasia is here? What the fuck is she doing here? In the last five years since our separation, she's visited Grey House only once and that was because of Phoebe's insistence to see me. Anastasia never drops by unannounced, even when we were still together. Shit. Maybe it's about the children. Fuck. Perhaps something's happened to them. No, Taylor would've made sure I knew right away if anything happened to any of my family members. And as the thoughts traverse through my mind, a small part, the part I've buried, the part I've tried to ignore springs eternal and whispers something to me. Maybe she's here just to see me. Maybe she misses me. What the fuck am I saying? Anastasia doesn't miss me, she doesn't give a fuck about me. She's too busy with her fucking Doctor flaunting him all over the place, making it painfully clear that she's moved on from me.

"I take it our meeting is over," Ms. Bishop says putting away the documents in her bag before crossing the expanse of the office, standing directly in front of me, my much taller frame looming broadly over her petite one. "It's a shame. I feel as if we were just getting started".

"My wife is here," I say adjusting my suit jacket, making sure I leave no doubt to Anastasia that this was purely a business meeting and nothing else. I don't think she'll assume that. Even if she assumes this was some kind of romantic entanglement, Anastasia knows that I do not meet any prospective submissive at my office. All interactions having to do with the lifestyle is done off the premises of GEH, so that the two never intermix. As always the exception to rule has been Anastasia. She's always the exception. I don't understand why the fuck I'm feeling guilty. I haven't done anything wrong. Technically I'm a free man. Anastasia has made it painfully clear that James is her lover, shouldn't I be entitled to find something of my own.

"Your wife? That's interesting. A little birdie we both know told me you were separated from your wife, possibly months from a divorce."

Cocking my head to the side, I look at her quizzically "Which birdie would that be?"

"Mrs. Talon, but you know her by her former name since she's just recently remarried."

"You know Elena?" Ah, now it's all beginning to fit. That fucking woman.

"Yes, we're acquaintances. When I told her we were meeting, she gave me some advice on how to handle a man like you. She said we were a lot alike, that we shared similar interests."

"Did she now?"

"Yes, she did." What the fuck is Elena playing at? It's been over a year since I've spoken to her and that was by coincidence. What the fuck is she doing spreading my business to perfect strangers? If she's looking to start trouble, she has no idea who she's fucking dealing with. The sentimentality of our previous relationship has faded over the years with her constant meddling, and I have no problem reminding her of that. "If you ever want to discuss it, you know how to reach me."

"I'll keep that in mind. As far as the contract, I have a few things I'd like to change myself. I'll have my assistant send you a new version later today and then we'll discuss it further," I reply, refusing to engage. The Elena connection doesn't sit well with me. Nothing that woman does ever sits right with me. "Shall we?"

"Of course". Waiting for her to walk before me, I run my hands through my hair and take a silent breath before opening the door. I hold my breath as I walk behind her, feeling my body harden, forming an invisible shield. I feel her before I see her, she's sitting to my right, in the guest receiving area, her eyes glued, watching as we pass her by. My armor shocks me as my instincts scream for her. It's been craving her, been yearning for her and now that she's so close, it wants her.

"Ms. Bishop, thank you for coming. I will e-mail you the changes later today. If you have any further questions, please contact me and we'll amend". To my ears, I know what it might sound like to her, it's shrouded in innuendos. At a later time, I'll examine it and try to decipher my intentions, but in the mean time I watch as a smirk lifts at the corner of Kelly Bishop's mouth.

"Of course Mr. Grey. Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir," she says and as if on cue, most likely for theatrics sake, the door closes, leaving my mind blown away. She's definitely a friend of Elena.

"Christian," Anastasia calls. I put my mask on and turn to her. My breath leaves me as I take her in. She's fucking beautiful. More so than the last time I saw her. Perhaps it's the fact that my time with her has been rationed, cut back by the fact that I now live at Escala while she's remained at our house. After apologizing for keeping her waiting, I ask her if the children are alright. She assures me that they are. That she was just in the neighborhood and wanted to take me out to lunch so we can discuss some things. Lunch? My interest is instantly piqued and I can't resist the urge to mess with her a little and call her Mrs. Grey. She flinches and tries to hide it quickly. As we walk through the door to my office, Anastasia, as she always does, stumbles over the threshold and before she can fall to the floor, I reach out and grab her.

My fingers rejoice at the contact. They move without my will and slide down her arms as I try to steady her. As we touch, the same electric charge that has been there since day one ignites around us and I can feel myself grow. Her body feels so good in my hands. She's gained a few pounds since the last time we saw each other, not much, just enough to round out her cheeks. God, I would pay good money to see how her hips rounded. Or have her full breasts in my hands, feeling the weight of them. Fuck. I need to stop these thoughts. We're a long way from there. From the look she's giving me, it seems we are on the same page. Sexual attraction was never our issue.

Trying to diffuse the situation, I make fun of her clumsiness, making her aware that she is the only one who seems to have trouble with my entry way. Affronted, she makes some quip about Kelly, likening her to the American actress Kerry Washington. Hmmm, I didn't see the resemblance at first, but I guess Kelly does favor her. In her own round about way, Anastasia is making it known what she suspects that Kelly is my submissive. I guess Kelly's special attention to the word sir coupled with my statement didn't pass her. Anastasia, always so intuitive. But if she wants to know who Kelly is to me, she should ask. So I ignore the comment, feigning ignorance.

She doesn't come out and say it, but from her question about me deviating from my previous tastes, she's obviously assumed that Kelly is in fact my submissive. I don't know how I should feel about that. Choosing not to confirm or deny, I rather nonchalantly express my desire for a variety of things.

It seems odd talking to her like this. If not for my armor, my emotional protector, my skin would too raw to endure being so close to her. Our distance and lack of touching only serves as a reminder of what I'm missing and in the past, has only caused me to lash out. So to keep the peace, we've made pact, a peace treaty to cease fire and try to build a new kind of relationship for the sake of the kids. One that would be based on friendship and the ability to co-parent our children without us being at odds with each other. Or better yet, a relationship where I must come to terms with my wife fucking another man. No, I can't go there. Not if I want this to go well. It will only make me upset thinking of him and now that we're on a new path, a path devoid of anger and resentments, I have to play nice.

So, I accept her offer to go to lunch and try my best not to react to her goading, by declaring that she hasn't eaten anything since early this morning. As always, she's fucking with me. She's going out of her way to show that she doesn't have to answer me to me anymore. We may not be romantically involved at the moment, but she's still the mother of my children and it doesn't mean I will not voice my opinions if I find that Anastasia is not taking care of herself. But I swallow it back this time, and allow her to play her game. I shouldn't be surprised by this. Defying me seems to be her favorite past time over the years. Every move she makes has the motive of defiance against me behind it and I guess in a way I should be flattered that she even still thinks about me.

After instructing Andrea to make a reservation at Le Petite, the French bistro restaurant across the street, we leave the office and head for the elevator. Still unable to drop the topic of Kelly, she asks me about her again. But this time, her intrigue is what we were doing for so long. Oh, Anastasia. If I was fucking her on my desk, with her gagged and blind folded, does she really think I would tell her? And does she really think that little of me?

As we ride down the elevator, I find myself unable to look away from her. Our relationship started by the a tiny spark in an elevator and every time we are inside one, something all consuming seems to take over us. Intoxicated by her scent and the closeness of her body, I slide effortlessly to her. She's mesmerizing me as she bites on her bottom lip. Drawing me back into her web and I find myself speaking out loud to her.

"It's so strange. Even after all this time, all that has happened, it's still there between us. What is it about elevators, Anastasia? Or better yet, what is it about elevators whenever you're along for the ride?" She doesn't say anything at first, but I suspect to diffuse the tension, she makes a silly joke about elevators making us think of having sex on last time before we plunge to our deaths. That's just ridiculous.

We make our way through Grey House and walk the small distance across the street to Le Petite. Anastasia is unusually quiet. Her defiant demeanor is gone and I notice he shoulders dropping little by little as we make our way to my preferred table. As usually, Andrea is efficient. My favorite wine is already chilled and is waiting for us.

As we scan the menu, I look up at Anastasia and notice her brows are furrowed in agitation. She's looking at the menu, but it's obvious to me something's wrong. Finally loosing my patience, I ask her what is wrong. She makes some excuse about not knowing what to order and asks me to order something for her. Hmm.. She always asked me to order for her when we were together. After placing our lunch order with the waiter, Anastasia again asks me a question that seems loaded with assumptions. What does she think I do when I'm at work? Yes, I have business lunches and meeting in restaurants, but that's only because in the business world, most deals are brokered over a good meal and fine bottle of alcohol. Does she really think I spend my days wining and dining different women? _Have you made her think otherwise? She only thinks what you've made her feel._

I explain to her the proximity of the restaurant makes Le Petite very convenient. Not to mention they have the most acceptable wine cellar in this part of the city. Anastasia trying to make a point to me, goes through the elaborate show of rolling her eyes at me. Again, with her points. Whenever she's feeling unsure of herself or downright doubtful about her choices, she flexes her muscles and shoves the fact that she's not my property anymore in my face. For a brief moment, I have to suppress the urge to grab her and throw her over my knee. I can see it in my mind as we stare at each other and I have to remind her that it isn't beneath me.

She scoffs at me. "Ha. I hope you meant "correct" in a verbal context because you don't have the right to correct my behavior bad or otherwise any longer". She reminds me.

"Good point well made. But as you know, things always have a habit of changing, Mrs. Grey". I say reminding her that she is in fact still my wife. Or maybe it's myself I'm reminding. There are times when I've really tried to understand our situation. Why I've allowed us to go on living this way, her living with him, knowing that I still love her. Maybe it's because I know I'm not completely healed yet. So much has happened, so much tragedy, so much loss. I'm not ready yet. I know I need more time before I can even begin to move on.

"Christian, don't", she says breaking me out of my thoughts. The smallness of her voices draws my full attention.

"Don't what, Anastasia?" What the fuck did I do now?

"Don't call me that. Don't call me Mrs. Grey?"

What the fuck should I call her? "It's your name isn't it? Last time I checked your name was still Anastasia Grey".

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Christian", she says to me and instantly my heart lurches. What's going on? I knew this was too good to be true. I wait for her to continue, as she sits quietly, engaging in some kind of internal battle. "We need to end this Christian. We've been in limbo for a very long time. We need to end the separation and sign the divorce papers".

I don't know what I expected her to say. But from the aggrieved beating of my heart, it wasn't this. "Christian... I". She tries to continue, but I hear my voice cut her off. My body is no longer being controlled by my head, just my breaking heart.

"What's has changed, now?" I ask her.

"Christian, it's been so long since we've been separated. We're living separate lives".

That's not what the fuck I asked you. "Anastasia be honest with me. Tell me".

"He's asked me to marry him. James wants us to get married and I've made up my mind. I'm going to say yes."

My body is frozen. Suspended in some kind of warped time where everything stands still and nothing moves except for the heavy beating of my heart. Not even air moves through my lungs as her words play in a continuous loop inside my head. _"James wants us to get married and I've made up my mind. I'm going to say yes". _Each one of her words comes out meek and small, yet they are littered with tiny sharp points that lacerates my body as they hit me one by one. "_I'm going to say yes". _No. That can't be. How can she marry someone else when we are already married? No.

A bubble of something rises in my throat, growing bigger as it slowly ascends. The shock of it in my throat forces my body in motion and I swallow it back, holding it captive, not allowing it to escape. A part of me is afraid of what it might be. It could be anything, a sob, a prayer or a wretched plea. My body tightens, suppressing an urge to get down on my knees, lay my head at her feet and beg her to come back to me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We weren't supposed to end like this. I thought I'd have more time to fix us and now, after all the wasted years, he's asked her to marry him. What kind of man is he? How can he ask that of another man's wife? Who does that motherfucking, cocksucking bastard think he is? _He's the man that's been fucking your wife, while you've sitting in your ivory tower feeling sorry for yourself._ No. She's mine. She's my motherfucking wife. _You gift wrapped and handed her over to him without so much as a fight. Of course he wants to keep her._ _You gave up on her and now she's doing the same. _ I thought I'd had more time. _Are you listening to her, she doesn't want to be your wife any more._I thought I would have more time to fix it.

As my mind begins to fully accept the magnitude of her words, the familiar all consuming rage begins to burn through my body, expanding bit by bit. Boiling hot lava sears my skin as visions I've tried my best to avoid travels torturously through my mind – of her; of him; of them together, fucking in my bed, in my house. At the thought, the burn intensifies, eating up all my remaining control. My body tries to repress the pressure, tries to contain it. But it's a futile effort. It simmers just beneath my skin, ready to explode and as the moment intensifies, something crystallizes in my mind and becomes clear to me. I've always suspected it, but was never certain. Now after listening to my wife tell me that she's going to marry a man I hate, a man I detest – there is no doubt in my mind whether or not I'm capable of murder.

"Christian?" At the sound of her voice, my boiling blood begins to cool a fraction. My name rolling off her tongue doesn't quite hurt as much, but the wariness in it cuts just as deep. I can feel the tension in her body as she sits too straight in the chair, bracing herself, waiting for my temper to explode. She's scared of me. I can't blame her. I'm scared of myself too, scared of what I'll do. The pressure has never been this intense, never been this severe. I can't recall a time it has ever been this far beyond my control and if I don't contain it and separate it from my consciousness, there is no telling how destructive it will be. So I do the only thing that has been able to keep it at bay – I recede into myself and recall the training Elena taught me as an out of control adolescent and I simply remove myself from the situation and shut down everything.

"What?" My voice is clipped, strong and in command. A cold exterior matching the passionate conflagration raging inside, a complete antithesis. It takes everything I have to form this illusion.

"You haven't said anything in some time. Are you okay?" Am I okay? Am I okay? What the fuck do you think Anastasia? Am I okay with another man taking my wife? Am I okay with another man being where only I have been? NO! I'm not fucking okay.

"Yes, I'm fine". _Liar. _

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she bites down on her lip, her large eyes raking worryingly over me. "Did you hear what I said?" She asks timidly. It doesn't go unnoticed that the bravado and out right goading she exhibited earlier is now gone and I have to smile to myself. I guess we all need our armor when going into battle. She chooses defiance. I choose cruelty. I'm not all too sure which one's worst.

"Yes, I heard every word you said".

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Anastasia? You want to divorce me and marry your boyfriend. What else is there for me to say?" I answer back, taking a sip of my wine. I need something to do, something to keep my hands busy. My fuse is running low. I thought shutting down and numbing myself would help, but it doesn't. It is building again. One more second of this and I may flip the table over and break everything insight. Deep down in the pit of my gut, a raging, angry beast is clawing at my insides ready to destroy everything insight – ready to destroy Le Petite, all of Seattle; destroy _her._

"Don't say it like that Christian", she says looking down at her lap, her shoulders slumping a fraction causing her hair to shield her face. "Don't make it sound like that".

"Don't say it like what? Isn't that what you're doing? Asking me for a divorce so you can marry him?"

"Yes I am. But don't make it seem as if I'm leaving you for him. James didn't come between us. Our marriage was broken long before he was even a factor. I would've never left you for anyone".

"But you did leave me for him, Anastasia".

"You know that's not true, Christian", she says quietly as tears roll down her cheeks, begging to be wiped away. "So many things went wrong for us. Things I still don't fully understand or think I ever will. It would be so easy to point fingers and place the blame on someone else, but no one else is to blame, Christian. We did this. We ruined our marriage all on our own".

Lowering my eyes, I feel the sudden need to avoid her gaze and ignore the truth of her statement. Acknowledging it would be akin to accepting the fact that I was so caught up in my own shit that I stood idly by and allowed my marriage to be steamrolled and flattened to the point where my wife found it necessary to find love and comfort from another man. No. That's not me. That's not what I do. I fight for what I want. I didn't give up on our marriage. She did. She broke us; she tore us apart the minute she fucked him.

"But he didn't fucking help our marriage either, did he?" I grit out through my teeth as I try to control my temper. "Yes, we were having a hard time, but the instant he saw an opening he used our son and wormed his way right into your fucking panties and you allowed him even though you were my wife".

"Are you kidding me? Are you really going to sit there and play the victim after everything you've done? I didn't break any marriage vows you hadn't already broken, so don't sit there with your smug face and your sanctimonious accusations and blame this on me. You broke every single ounce of trust I had in you, and when I was broken and had no one else to put me back together, James was there. He put me back together again after you broke me into pieces".

"While you were fucking married to me."

"Yes, we were still married on paper, but you stopped being my husband long before James and I ever became involved. If you want to blame somebody for this, look in the fucking mirror," she says firing back at me, her face flushed in that sexy way, her eyes blazing and as my face burns intensely, I have no doubt that we share the same fiery look. The air crackles and sizzles around us as our eyes remain locked, tied together by some imaginary force of electric passion. Even in a heated battle, with our wills locked tightly against each other, the same unmistakable chemistry still burns between us. Only more violently than before and I hate her for it. I hate that she makes me want her so fucking bad, I hate that she's given him what she only promised me and most of all, I hate her because despite all she's done, I still love her more than anything.

Taking a breath, she inhales deeply before closing her eyes, most likely trying to break the sordid connection between us. "Christian, I don't want to argue with you. I didn't come here to reopen old wounds and rehash things that don't matter anymore. It's over now. What's done is done; we've both moved on." You may have moved on, but I am stuck in a purgatory. A kind of no man's land, somewhere between heaven and hell, neither dead nor alive, walking through life, not seeing, not feeling, just half existing and for a multitude of fucked up reasons, I want to punish her for it. I want to strap her naked body onto a whipping bench and feel my dick grow hard as I watch her skin redden beneath the vicious whip of my belt. I want her to beg me to stop and as she begs me for mercy, I will not stop. I will continue hitting her, screaming her transgressions, one by one until she's fully atoned for them. But I can't do that. I have no right. So I will settle for the only weapon I still have against her. The most severe one is made up of words, key words. Words she's confessed, she's feared and if wielded just right, they will wound her so deep, so severely that it will sit and fester and eat away at her until there is nothing left, nothing for him to enjoy. _You're such a sick son of a bitch. After all you've lost, all you've been through, you still haven't learned your lesson, have you? You're all by yourself, without your family, living a half a live and still you want to continue hurting her. Go ahead. Hurt her, make her hate you._ She doesn't love me anymore; she wants to be with him, not me. So fucking what if she hates me. What difference does it make? _You know that's a lie. You don't want her to hate you._

"I guess in a way I knew this would eventually happen", I spit out as sardonically as I can, sitting back in the chair, crossing my legs. "Despite our best efforts and good intentions the reality is, we're too different. It was what first attracted me to you. I loved that you were different, your innocence, inexperience. that you challenged me in every way and upended my well functioning life. But in the end, we weren't compatible and as much as we loved each other, love alone couldn't make it work for us. We simply weren't enough to satisfy each other's wants and needs. It's just that simple".

Before answering, her bright eyes dim just a bit. My stomach rolls as a flicker of hurt mutes them and before she opens her mouth, I feel like shit. "If you want to trivialize my worst fears so you can hurt me and make the divorce better for you, then fine. But just for the record, you were always enough for me, Christian. Flaws and all. I only wanted a little independence. That's it".

"But that's what's so surprising about this Anastasia. I'm not surprised you want to divorce me. But I am surprised however, that you'd want to remarry again, so soon". She shifts in her chair. "I know how much you value your precious independence. That's why you broke up our marriage, isn't it? You needed your so-called indolence".

"I don't have to fight to be my own person with James and marrying him will not change that." She begins softly. "He doesn't stifle or suffocate me. He lets me be who I am without restrictions,and he doesn't try to control me, or mold me or change me into what he wants. He listens to me. He doesn't tell me what to do and most importantly, he trusts me, and I trust him".

Again with those sharp words of hers, hitting their intended mark, each wound more fatal than the other. I thought I'd perfected it, but she's proven to me yet again, never to underestimate her. I don't know what to say. Is that really how she sees me? I didn't want to change her, Anastasia is perfect the way she is. She's everything I want, everything I need. I love her. I was scared of losing her.

"Was I really that bad?"

Pausing, she takes her time to formulate a response before she answers. "Not when you really tried. When you tried, when you made an effort, it was the happiest we've ever been. You would talk to me and share your thoughts. We would laugh and enjoy each other without any worries. And then just like that, this switch would be flicked and your need to have absolute control would always take over and you'd turn into a completely different person. You'd push me away and become cold and distant. We'd fight continuously and then one day, I would find myself alone, missing you so much, so desperate for you and I would do the only thing I knew that would please you. I would give up and do whatever it was you wanted, just so I could have you again. I loved you that much. I would've given you anything.."

"Anything?"

A sob escapes her lips. She covers her mouth briefly with her hand as she tries to stop any more from escaping. "I would've given you anything, I would've done anything to keep us together. But I couldn't give up myself. I thought I was strong enough to withstand you. I thought that as long as I had your love that I would be fine. But every time I tried to change for you, it was like I was beating myself against a rock and every time I made contact, a piece of me chipped away little by little and I was afraid that if I continued, there would be nothing left of that girl who fell into your office. I didn't want to lose her".

Tears freely flow done her cheeks, a non-stop river of sadness. I wonder how much tears she's cried because of me. Maybe enough to fill an ocean, a lake. I don't know. All I know for certain is that she's cried them because of me and I'd promised to make her happy. I don't want her to cry anymore. She's right. I did this. Not her. As much as I would like to blame her for the mess we've found ourselves in, the truth is I know where the blame lies. I've sat with this very question in my mind, laid it out bare for examination and every time I retraced the crash and burn of my marriage it always invariably leads back to me. Back to my actions, my choices, all the ill-advised decisions I made. It all leads back to that night, when she asked me to go back to work and letting my fear of losing her dictate my actions. My fear of losing her urged me to hold on even tighter and in doing so it only pushed her away. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. The ultimate irony. If only I'd indulged her, even just a little. Maybe if I had, our subsequent troubles wouldn't have compounded into each other and left her so vulnerable to that fucking asshole's seduction. I let my fears lead me and now my chicken has come home to roost. The ultimate irony indeed.

"You're right". The words bleed painfully from my mouth and sits quietly between us. For ten, thirty, sixty seconds, only silence takes up the air and as I look up, her large blue eyes are opened wide as she stares at me. She's in shock. Probably recounting our entire relationship from beginning to end trying to remember if I've ever said those words to her. Probably not. I don't think I've ever said those words to anyone. "I wasn't there for you. I promised to take care of you and to protect you and all I've done is hurt you over and over again. It was all so much and then...Grace...I was just so afraid". The lump returns, large and round and constricting the air to my lungs, stopping me from continuing. It's a good thing. I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to open my mouth, I don't want to go there. If I do it will come out and then I'll beg. 'll grovel, I'll say anything to keep her. I can't lose her too.

"A..A..Afraid of what, Christian? What were you afraid of?" She stutters, her shaky voice enlarging the lump. Our eyes hold each other. Her face reads something I can't quite tell. She's leaning forward, waiting, anticipating.

Nothing will set me free of this but the truth. Maybe, just maybe if I tell her everything, all my fears and unknown truths. That I feared she would finally see me for the monster that I am. That I selfishly tricked her into marrying me so that she could save me. That despite my selfishness, I want to deserve her. Maybe just maybe if I tell her of these things she'll forgive me and comeback to me. "I was afraid that I didn't deserve you".

"Here you are Mr. and Mrs. Grey", the waiter interrupts me, finally arriving with our lunch orders. Placing the large plates before us, he fusses around, quickly topping my wine and Anastasia's water before leaving us. Eating now seems ridiculous. I've lost my appetite. How can I eat Salmon and vegetables when my wife wants to divorce me so she can marry her lover?

"Go on. Please finish what you were saying", Anastasia says as soon as the waiter disappears, not touching her food either. I really want to tell her to eat her lunch, especially since she so brazenly boasted about missing breakfast in my office. But I hold my tongue. This isn't the time.

"What?"

"You were saying that you thought you didn't deserve me. Why would you say something like that?" Biting her lip, she slides her left across the table, taking mine in it. Oh, I miss those hands. They feel so good, but not nearly enough. I want more. I want to feel them as they make contact with my skin, rubbing up my chest and across my back. I want them to soothe the stinging burn of my scars with just her warmth and as I look down at our hand to confirm that they're really touching me, my eyes registers something it hadn't before. I hadn't noticed. Not in my office, not on the walk here most certainly not until this very minute. On her left hand, the second finger from the pinky, the fourth from her thumb; her married finger, is bare. Empty, barren. Her wedding rings are gone. She took them off.

_Of course she took them off, what did you expect?_ _She's moved on with him, Christian. You did what you had to do and set her free. Now it's time for to let her go. _No I can't. Even if I wanted to I don't think it would be possible for me to completely let her go. Anastasia is a part of me, she's my partner, the mother of my children, my wife. Her love is my life line and without it, I don't know if I'll be able to survive. From the moment she came into my life, she opened me up and imprinted herself deep in my soul with the promise she would stay there forever. That's why I opened myself up, that's why I allowed her in. And now after everything that has happened, after all that I've lost, she wants to take a scalpel to my soul and gut me wide open. How will I survive it?

For the first time in five years, I don't fight the voice anymore. I don't have the energy, even if I did, I don't have the will. She's given up, what else is there left for me. Nothing. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? Just talk to me, please." She continues, adding more tears to the river. I can't do this anymore.

"Anastasia, I want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you and I know at times it doesn't seem that way, but I love you. I truly do." I pause fighting back tears I haven't allowed her to see in years. "And if he can give you what you need... If he can make you happy in a way that I wasn't able to, then I'll sign the papers. I'll agree to the divorce."

_There, you've done the right thing. It was hard, but you did it. Let her be with someone who deserves her, let her finally be happy._ I look at Anastasia, expecting her to say something, anything, but she continues to cry. I don't know what to say to her; how to make it okay. This is what she wanted and I've given it to her. I have nothing left for her to take, nothing left for her to take. I am undone.

Had I known the day would have unfolded like this, I would've stayed in bed. Who could've imagined this death, the death of my marriage? Not me. It's funny how real life unfolds differently than they do in your imagination. Time and time again I've lay in my bed, alone without my wife and imagined this moment. And not once, not once did I expect it to happen like this. Not like this; not in this restaurant, drinking my favorite wine. I steal a look at the sweating glass, sitting idly waiting for me. I say a silent prayer for it. Mourn it's lost, making an absolute vow that it will never breach my lips. Its taste will always be tainted in my mouth, made rotten by the rancid residue of the day I lost Anastasia for good.

"You should eat. You haven't eaten anything since breakfast," I demand. She looks up at me, between long wet lashes, shocked at my tone. "As of right now, I'm still your husband and as I said before, It's not beneath me to put you over my knee. Now please, it's the least you can do for me. Please."

Surprisingly, she picks up the fork, taking a small bite of her salad. "I'm not in the mood for a salad right now. Maybe on my way home, I'll get Mexican for dinner."

I chuckle, as a memory of Anastasia seven moths pregnant and suffering through heart burn, all for the love of a taco comes to mind. She always had a love hate relationship with the cuisine . "I thought Mexican gave you heartburn. In fact, the only times I remember you wanting Mexican was when you were...pregnant."

_Oh shit._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** ** This is a bit dramatic. Thanks again to everyone who's taken the time to review, followed and put the story on their favorite list. **** You don't know how encouraging it is.** Again, bunch of typos. Forgive me. I am rushing out of the house to pick up the kids. This chapter was shortened (yes it was supposed to be longer, if you can believe that) but Christian's pov was very hard to write. Hope you guys like it. Please take the time to review. I'm a review whore and it keeps me motivated.

**I don't own anything. All rights belong to E.L. James**

Chapter Nine

**_Anastasia's Pov (present day)_**

I watch wide eyed, scared shitless as a parade of emotions evolves across his face as realization dawns on him. One by one, I try to keep up and call them as quickly as they pass; shock, despair, anger, shock again. And then just as quickly, his face settles into some kind of unknown mask that I can't quite place. I don't know this look. I thought myself a connoisseur of the many expressions of Christian Grey, but this one is beyond me; this one sees through me.

My heart beats uncontrollably in my chest as I wait for him to swallow and digest the thoughts racing through his mind. I dare not speak, dare not move. Moving might compel him out of his thoughts, and I'm not sure if I'm emotionally strong enough to handle him right now. After the conversation that has just taken place, my nerves are shredded, barely hanging on and I'm almost certain it cannot sustain another life altering conversation. I curse myself silently, wishing the floor will open up and take me away from having to go through this. I don't want to go through this. _You have to, Anastasia. You've come this far, might as well get it over with. _

"You're pregnant?" He says breaking the silence, startling me to attention. The words coming out of his mouth sounds more like a statement than a question. He doesn't have to ask. He's already gone over every single word I've said to him, pin pointed every clue and has already figured it out for himself. He doesn't need my answer, he already knows. And even so, despite his knowledge, he still wants me to say it. He needs to hear it coming from my mouth and then, only then will he be able to face it.

"Yes. I am," I confirm, swallowing back a sob. My inside tightens, bracing itself in preparation for the impact of thermonuclear Fifty. Over the last few years, I've been burned by its raging outburst and have managed to survive each and every one of them. But this? God help me, this time I don't know if I'll be able to withstand or outrun the expected harshness of his rage. I wish I knew what he's thinking.

"Oh," he says, lowering his head, his tone flat and lifeless as he retreats into himself again. His eyes are still blank, but inside, I know a whirlwind of thoughts are spinning inside his head. I can't take this. This man, this Christian sitting before me isn't the one I prepared for. The Christian I've known over the past few years, would've thrown something by now. Barked crude acidic barbs at me and called me every cruel name in the book. Boy, what I wouldn't give for a trademark Christian Grey retort - the ones that slithers off his tongue with the intent to hurt and destroy. As much as I hate them at least they have purpose and feelings behind them.

"Did you plan it? Did you do this on purpose?" He asks suddenly.

"No. No," I protest emphatically. I know where his mind is going. He's thinking back to the last time he'd asked me to have another child and I'd told him no. "It wasn't planned, far from it. It was...it was an accident. I swear."

"An accident," he repeats. The way he says it and the way his eyes squint subtly makes me think about the last accidental pregnancy I had and not knowing what exactly is going on inside his head makes me uncomfortable. "How far a long are you?"

Shifting nervously, I bite down on my lower lip as I chew my nervousness away. This is the last place I want be, answering these invasive questions. But I know they need to be asked, need to be answered. There's no getting around it. "Around three months."

"Three months," he snaps leaning forward, his anger getting the better of him. "You've known you were pregnant for almost three fucking months and you're only getting around to telling me now? What the fuck, Anastasia?" This is good. Anger I can deal with, anger I can manage. I never thought I'd be relieved at being on the receiving end of one of Christian's angry tirades, but it's become so expected, so predictable, I've learned how to handle myself and maneuver around them. However much I've learned to wrangle angry Christian, calm docile Christian is far more scarier. He is still a mystery to me and the fear of what could be lying in wait beneath the calm is most certainly unnerving.

"I was in shock when I found out. I didn't know what to do, how to feel about it. I was in complete denial, and I ignored it for as long as I could."

"Well you obviously told someone about it. Is that the reason you've agreed to marry him, because you're...pregnant?" He spits out the word as if it's dirty and contaminated.

Taking a deep breath, I try to form my words in my head before letting them out. It's a fair question. It's the one that's been swimming in my head over past few weeks since James asked me to marry him. One that I've thought about nonstop and still even now I can't come up with a firm answer. Leave it to Christian to zero in on the one of my main insecurities. He seems to have a talent for that. "No. Not entirely. It's not the only reason".

"What are the other reasons? Why are you marrying him?"

"Christian, please. I don't think this is the right time or place to get into this."

"Now you have an issue with timing and location? It was a perfect enough place to blindside me with your marriage announcement and to tell me that you, my wife, is going to have a baby with another fucking man. Now tell me, if you aren't marrying him solely because you're pregnant, then what are the other reasons, Anastasia?" His full lips are curled around his teeth, thinning menacingly into a firm line. The fire in his eyes burns bright reminding me of coiled dangerous cobra and the more I look into them, the more I feel my myself break.

"Why does it matter?" My breath comes out short and forceful.

"After all that's been revealed today, and how accommodating I've been even though, I might add, I don't have to accommodate a fucking thing. I think I deserve some answers. That's the least you can fucking do?" I cringe at his words. It's the truth.

Closing my eyes, I let out a breath, resigning myself that it's something I need to do. We need to go through this cleansing of the past in order to move on to the future, and no matter how much I want to avoid it, it has to be done. "Fine."

Leaning forward, his hands tightly gripping the edges of the table, he grits his teeth before asking, "Do you love him?"

"He's a good man." The burn of unshed tears stings and it takes all of my might to keep them back.

"That's not what I asked you, Anastasia. Do you love him?"

"He treats me very well. I..."

"Anastasia, just answer the fucking question", he says raising his voice. I steal a glance around us and silently thank heaven that we are secluded enough so no one can hear us. "Anastasia?"

"Yes," I admit. Hot tears scorching my face. "Yes, I love him."

"There, finally the truth from you." He leans back in his chair and take a sip of his wine. He grimaces as he swallows, as if the taste is displeasing to him.

As much as my intention was to be forthcoming and honest with him, I didn't intend for it to happen this way. Not in a restaurant surrounded by people who are eating and drinking and going about their lives, oblivious to the fact that just a few feet away from them an emotional bomb has just been dropped and a marriage that was built out of pure honest love, has just been decimated.

As we sit across from each other, a cold shiver racks my entire body as we silently stare at each other. The fire that burned bright and hot inside him just a few moments ago has cooled severely. If possible his eyes have changed into an icy gray that looks so distant, so far removed, I have to wonder if he's still in there and as he continues to stare at me in that cold removed way, a memory attacks me and drags me into the past, bringing back the last time I stared into the lifeless gray eyes.

It was all those years ago, after the whole ordeal with Leila, back at Escala, him down on his knees, staring up at me. His eyes vacant, his mind locked away protecting itself from certain abandonment. Only my declaration of love and heartfelt promise to never leave brought him back to me. And now after admitting that I have freely given what I'd promised him to another man, he's protecting himself from me by going back to that dark inner place, where his mind doesn't have to feel; where he's safe from being hurt and as the enormity of the situation hits me, I'm afraid I won't be able to bring him back again. I'm the enemy, the villain in this story. I thought I had broken him then and now as he stares at me with that distant cold look in his eyes, I'm almost certain I've finally done it.

Unable to continue looking at him, I shut my eyes, cutting him off. I can't look at him. Looking at him hurts too much. Looking at him tears at me and the knowledge that I could be responsible for destroying the father of my children is something I don't want to face. _You have to be strong, Anastasia. _I'm trying. _You did the best you could. _ Did I? Did I really do everything to save him, to save us? _ He gave up on you; you tried to give him everything and it still wasn't enough for him. He turned you away, he shut you out. Now the best thing for you to do is to say goodbye to him. _What if I can't say goodbye? What if my soul is destined to be linked with his; forever entwined to one another. I maybe naive in some things, but when it comes to Christian, I've learned so much about myself and one thing I know for certain is that no matter how much time have passed and no matter who I am with, Christian will always be a part of me. He's taken a hold of my being, and I will always love him.

My entire body begins to tremble uncontrollably as an all consuming need to have some kind of contact with him fills me. I feel like a junkie, looking for a fix. It may be the pregnancy hormones or that invisible pull that always surrounds us, but I need to touch him. I need to know despite all we've been through, despite all that's happened I need to know that it's still there between us. Morbid I know, this sick addiction I have. Maybe it's my way of punishing myself. It serves no purpose than to remind me what could have been.

He's still there unmoving, pensively staring at me, his hand still gripping tightly against the table. Seeing his smooth hands and well trimmed cuticles reminds me of what pleasures they can illicit and as I place my left hand on top of his, he recoils from me, taking his hand away. His hand moves away so fast, it knocks his wine glass off the table completely shattering on the cold marble floor.

The shock of his rejection leaves me frozen, stuck in a haze of disbelief. He recoiled from my touch. I've been the only one able to touch him. It's only been me, and now he's rejected me. _Of course he's rejected you. Do you think a man like him would want you after where you've been, what you've done? _No, I never thought he'd want me back, but I thought I would always own that place. That special place of being the only one, the only person besides the children that's been able get past his protective layer and connect with him, skin to skin. _You're not his sweet little innocent girl anymore. You've taken his favorite possession away and given it to someone else. He'll never be able to forget that._ _He'll never ever want you again_. It is my turn now to retreat into myself. A flurry of movement commence around me. I vaguely remember the waiter clearing my table and Christian declining desert before requesting the check.

"It's getting late. I have to get back to the office. I'll have my lawyers reach out to yours sometime this week. I suppose we'll keep most of the numbers we agreed on the same, but there are some things I'd like to change in light of recent events." Just like that, his mood has taken another swing. This one going from one end of the spectrum to the other. Where before he seemed like a child who's lost his favorite toy, now he is very much in CEO mode. Back into the cold calculating form of a man devoid of feelings. If not for the twitch in this jaw and fidgeting of his hands, I would've thought him in control. But he's as confused as I am by what just happened. His mind is wondering trying to process what just transpired between us and what it actually means.

"Yes, of course," I mutter under my breath, wiping away the tears.

"It was my intention to deed the house over to you, but now that...now that you're getting married. I can't..."

"I know."

"I don't want him living there." He rubs his chest and grimaces before quickly composing himself.

I nod my head in understanding. "Will you sell it?"

Shaking his head he says "No. Even if I wanted to. I don't think I could. I'll keep it for one of the kids. Maintain it for when Teddy or Phoebe gets older and gets married. It's a good place to raise a family."

"It's a perfect place."

"It was supposed to be perfect".

"It was... For a time"

"For a time." A single tear leaves his eye and he quickly wipes it away before it could fall. I match his single tear by a dozen and I'm reminded of the time I last saw Christian cry. _Don't go there. Don't think about it. It's all in the past now. You're moving forward. Keep moving forward._ "I want to make something absolutely clear, Anastasia. Phoebe and Teddy are _my_ children." He changes course again so fast and that I'm hit with a sudden case of whiplash, not knowing where his tone is coming from.

"Yes, of course they're your children. I have never tried to keep you away from the children. I want you to have a relationship with them, no matter what happens."

"I will have a relationship with them. I will see them as much as possible. The current custody agreement is no longer satisfactory to me." At the mention of custody agreements my scalp begins to prickle as my tear ducts begins to dry up. This is a sensitive topic for me. It's something I've feared since our separation. Christian has all the might and power to come down on me and fight me for full custody of our children. Against his money and power I would not have a fair chance and a fight like that would only do more damage than good.

"What do you mean? You see them every weekend."

"I know. But I want shared custody. I want to make sure I have an equal say in their lives. I don't feel comfortable with seeing them for only two days out of the week. I don't want them confused."

"They're not. They love you, Christian. They know that you are their father. No one else. If shared custody is what you want, then fine. We'll work out a schedule."

"And as for security, I don't care what you do with yourself and the rest of your new family, but my children will still have round the clock security, 24/7. Two guards at all times."

"Is that really necessary to have guards while they're with me?"

"If you see the threats I get almost every other week, you would have no doubt how necessary it is? I won't negotiate on this. My children's safety is my number one priority."

Oh yes, he's back and in full force. Exhaling slowly, I relent. "Fine. Fine. A 24/7 security detail as usual."

He shakes his head in satisfaction, and I wait as he hands over his credit card and signs the receipt. If I had to give this encounter an overall grade, I wouldn't know how to grade it. If it is judged primarily on how well Christian took my news, then yes it went well. An excellent overall. However, as we exit the restaurant, me on unsure wobbly legs, Christian looking around unseeingly, I can say that emotionally we are both barely surviving.

"I'll walk you to your car," he says breaking the silence as we reach the front entrance of Grey House.

"No, that's not necessary".

"It's not a problem. I want to make sure that you get to your car without any problems."

"That's quite alright. I can walk by myself."

"Goddamit, Anastasia. Just let me do this. Just let me walk you to your car." In frustration, he runs hands in his hair, closing his eyes before exhaling a breath. "Please. Let me do this."

"Okay.. Okay," I relent, not wanting to start another fight. The walk to my car parked in the Grey House garage, right next to his parking spot, is only a few feet away. We arrive in no time and I remotely open the car door. This day is almost over. This horrible situation almost done.

"Thank you, for walking me over here," I say to him. He looks around the garage, his eyes taking in everything but me. The one who's hurt him.

"Tell the children we're still on for our evening Skype at the usual time." I smile at him and nod my head. Grateful for the fact that in this difficult time, he hasn't forgotten his kids.

Turning away, I open the driver's side door to the Saab and just as I try to make my way in, strong hands grip my wrists, stopping me before I can get in. I look up at him, startled by the contact, my heart racing. He's touching me. He isn't repulsed by my touch. I look up at him, our eyes connecting and instantly, the air becomes depressive as a thunderstorm of lightening crackles an sparkles around us, detonating a surge of electrifying current.

Lowering his head, he hovers just a bit over me and moves his hand slowly to my face, wiping tears I hadn't known I was shedding off my face. "I tried, Anastasia. I really tried to change for you," he says, his forehead resting against my own, his own tears replacing mine. I grip his hand that are holding my head in place and swallow.

"I know. That was the problem. You weren't doing it for the right reasons. You have to want to change for yourself in order for it to work." I wait with abated breath for a declaration, a promise to try and correct the immense flaws that came in between us and brought us to this point. But he doesn't make any promises. Instead, he lowers his lips and presses them to mine. It's a small kiss. A kiss far less passionate, much more reserved than any we've shared in the past. And yet, what shocks me more than anything, what makes it all the more overwhelming, is that in its smallness, it packs more emotional weight that any lustful kiss. It takes my breath away.

"Go," he whispers, his lips leaving mine. Before I can take a good breath and marshal my thoughts, he releases me and takes a step away, breaking the connection. His eyes settles on the ground, refusing to meet mine. I feel the barrier rising between us again. Building brick by brick as the seconds tick off. He's closing himself off from me, locking me out because today I'm no longer his Anastasia.

"Christian," I take a timid step to him.

"No, Anastasia. Please, you need to go," he pleads taking another step back, his hands raised in defeat.

Nodding my head, I get in the car in a daze, my head swimming in a pool of confusion and regrets. I go through the motions, mechanically turning the ignition and driving off. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see him still watching, his figure getting smaller as the car moves away from him. I cry harder, feeling as if somehow my heart is being left behind with him. I promised myself I wouldn't cry in front of him today. I hardened myself with the determination that I would break away from him completely and start a new life with a new purpose with a new man. And here I am anyway, my heart bleeding for him, crying nonstop because it knows that despite my best efforts, it will never beat the same again without him. It is forever crippled by the loss of my first love, my one true love and it hurts even more because our demise wasn't due to any outside influence. It was purely an inside job and the truth of that makes our end all the more heartbreaking. He failed me; I failed him. We failed each other. That is the truth.

_He'll never change for you, Anastasia. You have someone in your life who will love you unconditionally. Who looks at you as a partner and not a possession. You're doing the right thing. You've made the hard choice. Now live with it and move on. _She's right. James is what I need. James is the best thing for me. As much as I love Christian, we can't be together. His darkness is too entrenched in him, too overwhelming for me to fight. I can't take it on by myself, his unwillingness to fight along with me broke us a part, and I don't want to fight anymore. I'm fatigued. I want to love, I want to laugh, I want to enjoy my lover and with Christian, no matter how good the great times are, the bad times negate all of that. James gives me that, he makes it better to deal with.

I hate that I can't give James all of me. He deserves so much more. What small portion I was able to snatch out of Christian's grasp, I gave to him willingly. He was there when no one else was. He was there when my husband betrayed me and I need to hold on to that. I need to remember Christian's absence, Christian's abandonment. I need to remember that when shit became difficult, when our marriage was on the line, he chose the easy way out and gave up on me. That's what I need to hold on to and as much he still has a hold on me, I don't want to stick to the past and cave in. I have to be strong.

Coming to a stop, I smile as I pull up to the one place that could give me some solace, some reassurance right now. Unlocking the front door, I walk in, inhaling the warm welcoming scent. My body relaxes, feeling the comfort long before we've made contact. The soft music coming from the study, guides me, making my feet move faster towards it. As I crack the door open, his turquoise eyes meet mine, eyeing me warily. I let out a breath, letting the warmth in them wash over me. I smile at him.

"Hi," I greet him still standing at the door.

"Hi," he answers back. He is guarded, unsure of what to do. I don't blame him, considering our argument. "I'm sorry," he says walking from behind his desk. He pulls me into the study, closing the door behind us. "I was a complete asshole to you, and I'm sorry for that. I was out of line."

"No. No, you were right. You shouldn't have to fuck someone else's wife." He flinches, taken aback by his hurtful words. They hurt me badly when he said them to me a few days ago, after I'd put off telling Christian everything. It hurt me, but the hurt didn't cover up the truth. He has been fucking another man's wife, been doing so for the past year and it is only normal for a man with his character and integrity to be bothered by it. "You've been so patient with me and I'm so sorry for doing this to you." The tears run down my cheeks again.

"Shh. Don't cry," he says pulling me into his arms. His large shoulders envelopes me, shrouding me into his warmth. "I'm where I want to be. I knew exactly what I was getting into when we got together. I just want you all to myself. Ever since the first time I saw you, I wanted you for myself."

"He knows. I told him everything."

He lets me go, looking at me with a shocked look on his face. "You saw him today? That's where you've been?"

"Yes, I went to see him for lunch. You were right. I needed to tell him everything. We needed to move on."

Rubbing his hand over his face, he shakes his head in disbelief. He's been waiting for this for so long. He's been so patient. "That must have been difficult for you. So, he knows everything?"

I nod. "Yes, I told him everything."

"Do I need to get my own personal security to protect me him?"

I laugh. "No. There's no need for a security detail. He took it much better than I actually thought he would. We're going to meet with the lawyers and work things out".

"So, does this mean you'll be my wife?" My heart races in my chest as I look into his expectant eyes. There's no question that I love him. Love him more than I thought ever possible. His wonderful spirit has brought me back from so much despair. I owe this to him. I owe this to us.

"Yes," I respond, answering his question. Tears fall down my face as he walks to his desk and take the small blue box out of his safe. He comes back to me, with that heartwarming smile, and places the single oval platinum ring on my finger. It feels foreign against my skin. The weight of it, both figuratively and literally, feels heavy on my finger. I feel like such a fraud.

"Ana," he breathes against my lips, nipping gently against them before taking them fully into a fiery heated kiss. He wants me. He needs to mark me as his own and so help me, I'm going to let him. After the emotional grueling day, I need this just as much as he does. I need reassurance, I need to know this is right.

As we continue to kiss, he removes my jacket, my blouse and my bra and leads me to the couch. His strong gentle hands, removes my pants and boots and a warm burst of pleasure explodes in my insides as his warm eyes drifts over me, worshipping me. He quickly removes his clothes, his perfect body standing completely naked before me. There was a time when even the idea of someone coming close to the perfection of Christian Grey seemed absurd to me, but Jamie has somehow managed to come close to it. He's shown me so much, showed me that although it seemed unimaginable to me, there could be a worth while life after Christian and I trust with all of my heart that he will make me happy. Stretching my hand, I reach out for him. He smiles down at me and takes his place right where he belongs, his body stretching the limits of my hips. "We're going to be so happy, me you, the kids. Our baby." He leaves loud wet kisses down my neck, stopping momentarily at each breasts, giving both equal attention. I arch my back, feeling the fire igniting deep down in my belly. I whine and I mewl, gripping his hair as he makes his way over by bump and down further. His tongue makes contact and I am immediately thrown inside a raging inferno. With my eyes shut tight, I let my self get lost in the unbearable pleasure, leaving my doubts, my apprehension behind until another day. As the build up intensifies, a cloud of unbridled energy zaps my by body and I combust, shattering into a million little pieces. As the cloud disintegrates and the fog lifts, I realize it's the most intense orgasm I've ever had with James and as he kisses his way up my body and I open my eyes to meet his, all I see are gray burning eyes. I shut them again, and as he thrusts into me, over and over again, they are still there. Intensely burning into me, carrying me higher and higher and as my body tenses again, I bite my tongue afraid of what might come out. It was what I was afraid of. He told me I was his in every single way, and I hadn't believe him. I can't run from him, there's no starting over. I'll always be his.

"I love you, Anastasia," James breathes heavily into my neck. I hold him tighter to me, hoping the closeness will keep Christian at bay. It doesn't. I sigh, it's what I have to live with.

Letting the hot tears of defeat seep from my eyes, I whisper "I love you too." It's not a complete lie.

.

* * *

Did you guys mind the lemon with James? It was weird to write. I can't see her with anyone else. let me know what you think? Crazy bunch of kids aren't they?

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	10. Chapter 10

**This is not an update... Sorry guys, Lulu was drinking wine again and accidentally deleted chapter 10 while trying to clean up a few typos. The next alert you get in a couple of days will be an actual update. My apologies for any inconvenience! **

Chapter 10

**Christian's POV (Present)**

I don't know what to say, what to feel. The last few hours feel as if someone else has lived them, not me. Perhaps it's the only way my mind can cope, can deal with what's happened. I'm numb. Maybe it's a good thing, being numb. The promise of what's lingering just beyond my mind is already too much and I can only imagine what it will be like once I'm able to feel again. I'm not certain of a lot of things right now, but one thing I know for sure is that I don't want to feel anymore, I don't want to think. Feeling hurts, thinking hurts and my only hope is that if I cut myself off from feeling long enough, it will diminish little by little, until there is nothing left. _You can try to ignore it all you want, Grey. But for the rest of your life, it will always be there. A living breathing reminder of what you've lost, what you've ruined. There's no going back now. No fixing things. You've fucked it up for good and now you've lost her in every conceivable way. _

At the thought, a scorching hot pain shoots across my temple, bringing with it a barrage of misery that descends on me without mercy. Again I'm forced to face reality. Forced to face the deep-seated sorrow that's entrenched itself permanently into my being. How could she do this to me? How could she do this to us? She's going to marry him. She's pregnant with his ….. Even in my mind, I can't seem to say it. The entire idea doesn't seem true to me. It seems false, a complete fabrication. Something intentionally made up for the sole purpose of making me suffer. In my heart, I don't believe Anastasia would be so cruel as to intentionally make up such a treacherous lie. Yet the pain I feel almost makes me wish for her to be that vindictive, that treacherous. Treachery I can handle. Viciousness I can battle, matching it blow for blow with my own wickedness. But none of those words can ever be attached to Anastasia. Her heart doesn't know how to operate nefariously and because of that, it makes this all the more impossible to digest.

I thought I knew pain. Thought I'd crawled through it, conquered it and survived it with an inherent understanding to never face it again. But nothing, nothing on this earth can compare to what I feel right now. There isn't a word or a phrase adequate enough to describe the breadth of my devastation. Every one of them seems dull, too weak to give voice to my pain. She's going to give birth to a child that's not mine; a child that's half hers but not half mine. Again the thought doesn't compute. The equation doesn't make sense. She's supposed to be mine, mine in every possible way. _My_ wife, _my_ love, the mother of _my_ children. Not fucking his. _I_ fathered her children. _I_ made her a mother. Having that power, that upper-hand over him made this whole fucking situation somewhat bearable. Knowing that despite or separation, despite her relationship with him, we were still bonded, connected in a special way that they'll never be. Through our deep love, we coupled together, merging the best two parts of ourselves. Phoebe and Teddy; our children - our love personified. And now, that bond is gone, forever broken, never to return. She gave him everything that belonged to me.

What am I supposed to do with this? How am I supposed to live in a world where my Anastasia, the only woman I've given my heart to – the only woman I'll ever love – belongs to someone else and not me? How am I supposed to go on, knowing that with every passing day, little by little her beautiful body will be ripening, growing heavy with his child inside her? Anastasia glows while she's pregnant. Her beautiful skin turns a creamy blend of blush that stays with her for the entire nine months. Her long hair becomes even more illustrious and full, falling alluringly down her shoulders, the tips feathering over her nipples. Pregnancy suits her. It brings out her natural sensuality and also heightens her sexual appetite. Plenty of time she'd accosted me at the front door or dropped by unannounced at the office just for a quick round while pregnant with my children. She was always ready for me, always open and inviting and it kills me to think that he will be reaping the spoils. That he will be the one to satiate her needs and give her burning body the relief it craves, while I'm alone and desperate. I fucking hate that son of a bitch. Words cannot describe the unbridled hate I feel for him. For five years he's been like a parasite, embedding himself into my life, usurping place, taking everything that's mine.

"Sir", a voice filters through my morose haze. Slowly turning my head toward the voice, I open my heavy lids and try to clear my vision. It's cloudy and unfocused and as I rub my fingers over them, I can feel hot liquid running down my face. _Oh, for fucks sake, enough with the tears. Enough with the fucking crying; what's crying going to do? Crying won't bring her back. She's pregnant with another man's baby, now get the fuck over it and live with it._

"What?" I bark wiping my face with the back of my hand. As my eyes begin to clear, I look around taking in my surroundings and immediately frown as I find myself ass down on the ground inside the GEH parking garage, my back leaned up against the far wall, my knees bent, while both arms lay limply against them. What the fuck? How long have I been here? Awareness hits as soon as I remember watching Anastasia's car driving off, leaving me behind. The pain had been so overwhelming, so excruciating, I found myself staggering across the street, back to Le Petite in search of something strong enough to shut my system down. Apparently I'd drunk too much or maybe not enough.

Sighing, I look up at Taylor standing in front of me, his face fixed in complete bafflement. With deliberate caution, he creeps close to me with the same guarded reluctance as he would a cornered wild animal, his body tense, his eyes closely examining me. He doesn't know what to make of this scene - _The_ great Christian Grey, dressed in a five thousand dollar suit, sprawled out on the ground like a common Hobo. The ridiculousness of it forms a tickle in my throat, propelling me into a fit of laughter. The sound echoes loudly, bouncing off the concrete walls and in between the numerous parked cars. Even to my own ears the levity of the outburst sounds unhinged, as if it's coming from someone who is slowly unraveling, detaching from reality. Oh, god. This is it. I've finally gone mad. I'd feared it for so long. Feared it since I realized the wretched thoughts and depraved yearnings twisting in my mind were abnormal and not that of a well-balanced person. Still despite my fears, I managed to keep it at bay. Anastasia's light and purity gave me the strength to fight it with a fierce doggedness to never allow it to overtake me and eat away at the man she deserved me to be. But now that she's gone, now that she's taken her light, her love, I don't have the will to fight it any longer. It's finally come for me.

"Sir", Taylor implores a little firmer, trying to gain my full attention. His eyes scan the surrounding area, possibly looking to see if there are any threats lurking around. "Sal, in security called. He said you've been sitting out here for almost an hour. He tried to get your attention, but you were nonresponsive. Do you need medical attention? Are you hurt, Sir?"

Oh, if only the pain was physical. At least then there would be some kind of remedy to ease the ache. "No, Taylor. I don't need any medical attention. I'm not hurt." Well, not in the physical sense at least.

"Oh…Uh…" He mutters under his breath while rubbing his hand over his closely shaven head, his face is a mask of wary confusion as his mind tries to grasp the situation at hand. "Then why are you out here like this? What happened?"

"Nothing's happened. I needed a moment to clear my mind is all. I'm fine."

Taylor let's out an exasperating breath, before rubbing his hand over his face and staring at me accusatorially. From the glare he gives me, I know he is biting his tongue, trying hard not go off on a tangent about safety measures. Thinking better of it, he sighs then asks, "I take it Mrs. Grey is on her way home? Andrea mentioned you two went out for lunch."

Involuntarily, I tense up at the mention of her name. My name actually, the one she threw back at me; the one she doesn't want anymore. "Be careful Taylor. If I were you, I wouldn't let her hear you call her by that name. She'll likely be less offended if you called her a goat fucker," I laugh. "Come to think of it, she is a goat fucker. Have you seen the shape of that fucker's head? I maybe fucked up, but at least I don't look like a fucking goat."

"Excuse me?"

"Anastasia, she doesn't want to be called Mrs. Grey anymore. She..."

Before I can continue, a flurry of noise erupts as the south entrance door to the garage opens up and a group of people exit. Sobering quickly, I begin to panic as it occurs to me that the group could be any number of my employees or worse yet, possibly high profile business associates. Oh Fuck! This is all I need. A group of nosy bastards seeing me like this. By close of business everyone will be talking about Christian Grey losing his fucking mind in the middle of his garage. Sensing my trepidation, Taylor thinks quickly and crouches down away from view, his large body shielding me from any prying eyes. Cocking his ear to the side, he listens intently as the voices move farther away from us and doesn't say a word until the loud sound of multiple car engines revs to life and exit the garage.

"Christian, listen to me very carefully", he commanded, grabbing my arm, forcing his face in front of mine. "We need to get you out of here. More people will be leaving the building and the sooner we leave, the less chance there is of anyone seeing you like this."

"I don't give a shit if anyone sees me. I'm not drunk, Taylor. I'm just a little... tipsy. That's all," I argued.

"That may be, but you wouldn't want another story being leaked to the press - not about this", he pointed out, looking directly in my eyes, conveying his meaning wordlessly. For the first time in a long while, I see worry cracking through his imperturbable visage and I'm taken aback when I realize this worry is for me. I've known Jason Taylor for almost sixteen years now. He's kept me safe, guarded not only my body but also my secrets and stayed with me despite of them. Besides Anastasia, no other person can decipher and anticipate my moods better than he can and it finally hits me that perhaps, after all these years, Taylor is my only friend. The only person I can truly rely on.

"I don't want to go back to Escala. I can't be there right now. Take me back to my office, please."

Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Taylor lifts himself from his crouching position and looks around the garage, his eyes searching for any additional intruders. Satisfied there aren't any witnesses, he nods indicating the coast is clear and then offers his hand to me. Restraining from scoffing at his help, I take his offered hand and hoist myself up.

My body feels foreign, alien like as I stand on my feet. It's as if my once strong legs have been reduced to jello and is no longer capable of carrying my full weight. Everything feels so heavy and weighted down; my head, my brain, my limps and especially my heart. A special kind of anvil lives there now, taking up the space Anastasia gutted, left empty and the weight of it serves as a constant reminder. Alcohol usually helps, dulling the ache – making it obsolete. Obviously I didn't work this time.

Running my hands through my hair, I tug at it for a bit, letting the uncomfortable tightness in my scalp run through my body. I absorb it and concentrate solely on the proven reality of physical pain and not some abstract metaphysical heartbreak that seems to hurt more profoundly than anything else. Actual pain I can endure. Actual pain makes sense. It keeps my mind focused and always in control. So I lose myself in the pain, holding on tightly, until all my emotions are reign in, leaving nothing exposed on the outside. Only then, after all the raw feelings are buried deep, locked away from exposure, will I ever be in control again.

Trying to get back to some semblance of normality, I straighten my tie and button my jacket. Taylor has turned his back, mercifully giving me a private moment to get my shit together. At the moment, my inside is burning, being eaten alive little by little, but I'll be damned if I'll fall apart and let anyone fucking see me like this again. It is bad enough I allowed her to see me weaken, reduced to a blithering, crying fool because of her betrayal. She'll never get the satisfaction again. Not fucking ever.

Feeling more in control, I turn to Taylor and give him a nod, signaling that I'm ready to get the fuck out of there. He doesn't move immediately, but stands, almost at eye level and looks at me. He's searching for something. Probably trying to ascertain if I'm truly intact and not falling apart at the seams. His normally cold and calculating blue eyes have softened, warmed by some sort of affection and regard. It makes me feel uncomfortable, him gazing at me this way. Over the years, Taylor has looked at me with feelings ranging anywhere between ambivalence to raw contempt. But never has he ever observed me like this. With pity I don't know how to react to this. So I do the only thing I'm capable of and walk past him towards the entrance, ignoring whatever sentiment he's trying to convey.

"Sir", Taylor calls just before I'm able to make an escape. Turning around I glare at him and watch as he pensively rubs the top of his buzz cut. A clear indication that he's as uncomfortable as I am.

"For God sakes Taylor, just get on with it and say whatever the fuck is on your mind."

"Look, Christian," he pauses, taking a moment to form his words. "I am sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I ask in confusion. Looking over at Taylor, a strange feeling hits me square in the gut, as I take in his body language and the way his eyes roam searchingly, trying desperately to avoid looking at me. Surely not. Surely Taylor, my right hand, the man I depend on, would warn me of something of this magnitude. He wouldn't let me be blindsided and unprepared for something like this.

"You knew?" I ask incredulously, not even sure I want to hear the answer. Going against his true nature, Taylor remains silent, still not meeting my eyes and the more he stands there unmoving, the more I feel my anger surging beyond the limits of even the scotch. Blinding red anger propels my feet, settling inches away from Taylor . Feeling the threat he squares his shoulders and finally meets my eyes. "You knew, my wife was fucking pregnant with another man's child and you said nothing to me. No warning, nothing."

"It wasn't my place, Sir. Mrs. Grey confided in Mrs. Taylor and my wife told me as her husband."

"And it didn't fucking occur to you, as my head of security, that I needed to know?"

"Mrs. Grey was having a hard time coming to terms with all that's happened. She needed someone to talk to and she turned to Gail for support. And as I said Sir, it wasn't my place to divulge anything that was told to my wife in confidence."

Scoffing, I hiss, "Not your fucking place? I pay you to serve as my head of security, to protect me and warn me of any impending threats. This, Taylor, is a fucking threat to my family. My wife marrying that motherfucker is a direct threat to me. So don't tell me it wasn't your fucking place. It's your fucking place, because I fucking pay you to make it your place."

My staff's affection for Anastasia was never a secret. Especially the Taylors. They were there from the beginning, watching silently as I brought her into my life and introduced her to my debauchery. They saw us love each other, change each and they saw us fight against each other. I knew they loved her; but I thought after all these years, that they also had some kind of feelings of obligation to me.

"Well, at least I know where your loyalties lie. I always suspect it was with Anastasia, but now I know for sure", I sneer at him. "You've proven that I cannot trust you, Taylor. So, effective immediately, you are no longer my head of security. I need someone I can trust and I cannot. Trust. You." His looks at me in total shock, his mouth hanging open.

"Mr. Grey? Please…"

"Enough" I yell. "The only reason I'm not firing your ass is because my children have great regard for you. If you choose to submit your resignation, that is up to you. But in the mean-time, you'll leave here immediately and go back to the house and stay there. I have no use for you."

Taylor stands back, not speaking, not moving. Looking at me, he finally says, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Sir".

"Me too". I reply, turning on my heels and walking away, leaving behind the one man I'd ever considered a friend.

As I walk through the caverns of GEH, towards the private elevator, I am twitchy as fuck. My body is a ball of pent up tension, coiling in on its self, ready to let loose on the next motherfucker who pisses me off. It's taking every ounce of will I have left not to go over to that fucking house and unleash all of my hurt, all my grievances and shower it all on them. They all knew. Every one of them - Taylor, Gail, Sawyer – they all knew about Anastasia and her doctor and not one of them told me; not one of them warned me. The feeling of betrayal almost chokes me, cutting off breath. I can't keep going on like this. If I continue like this, thinking about them, I will fucking loose it and then where will I be? No.

I have to keep my mind constantly moving, not stopping idly even for a split second. A half second adrift is all it takes before it bursts through all my mechanisms and sever my control. A half second I'm back in the garage, a full second she's standing in front of me, tears running down her face, her sweet lips kissing me for the last time before she turns around and leaves me for him. Usually, a vision of her face would calm me, setting my soul at ease. But this vision of her crying, her lips trembling only fires up the blood rushing through my veins. Why the fuck was she crying? She got what she came for. My balls on a platter accompanied by a smooth and uncontested divorce. Fuck her tears. They are as fake and as contrived as any profession of love she's ever uttered. If she loved me, she wouldn't have done this to me. If she cared, she wouldn't have moved on so quickly and gotten knocked up by the first man who showed her any fucking attention. Fuck the both of them. They're probably together now, celebrating my misery, fucking all over my custom made bed. At the vision, a pulsing starts beneath my skin causing my foot steps to falter and before my mind can register to slow down, my footing becomes unsure and I'm propelled forward, both hands and knees landing on the ground and just like that all of my control is gone.

"Fuck", I scream out in frustration as I quickly pull myself up, brushing away the helpful hands of one of the security guards. The entire lobby has come to a stands still, each pair of eyes settling on me in bewilderment. In my befuddled embarrassment, I glare back at them with steely eyes, wordlessly telling them to move the fuck on and get back to work. They scatter almost instantly, with their eyes lowered, moving quickly out of the way as I stomp to the awaiting elevators. Most assuredly this one incident will be all over the entire building within the hour. Gossip spreads around here like wild fire. More so if it has anything to do with me, and I have no doubt everyone will be laughing their asses off at the big boss falling on his face. _Can you imagine how it will be once word leaks out that Anastasia has been fucking another man; that she's pregnant with his child and will be divorcing you so she can marry him? You'll be the laughing stock of Seattle. They'll all know that you've been nothing more than a cuckold for all these years? While she's been fucking him in every which way, you couldn't even get..…_

_ "_No.. No.. Shut the fuck up", I shout at the voice in my head, grabbing the sides of my hair, pulling it harshly, hoping for some relief. The ride in the elevator is fucking torture as I pace non-stop back and forth, my legs unable to find any peace. Sweat drips from my face, sliding down my neck, pooling at my collar. I feel like a wild animal, confined in a prison with no way out. My agitation has skyrocketed, fueled by anger and embarrassment and as the elevator comes to a stop, I march to my office, ignoring the queue of people waiting for me and shut the door. As soon as I'm safely tucked away from intruding eyes, I let out an exasperating breath, loosening my tie, unbuttoning my shirt. Looking around the office, I instantly feel at home and unrealistically sated. I don't know why that is, considering if I had my way, alone in my office is the last I placed I'd chose to be. Maybe it's because this is the only place where I still have complete control. Between these four walls, surrounded by steel and glass, I am master of my own universe. King of everything and commander of all. No one dares go against me. No one defies me and most certainly, no one sets me aside. I'm the one who leaves, no one leaves me and yet she's done it – twice already. Twice she's ripped my heart open, shredding it into small pieces, stomping on what little remain of it. And what's worse, what makes me so fucking sick of myself; makes me so fucking pathetic is the fact that I would take her back in a heartbeat. If she walked into my office right now, declaring her love for me, begging for my forgiveness, I would gladly give it her without hesitation. And it kills me even more for wanting this, because I know deep down she'll never do it. She's made a commitment to him. Her mind is made up, solidified by the child growing inside her and that leaves me nowhere. Nowhere that matters.

Taking a deep breath, I walk unsurely across the expanse of my domain, in search of solace. Stopping in front of the newly installed wet bar, my mouth waters in anticipation as I reach for a glass, filling it with warm amber liquid. With shaking, unsteady hands, I lift the crystal to my lips and take big greedy gulps, closing my eyes as I relish the feel of the burn slowly descending into my stomach. I wait for it to completely numb me, but one glass isn't enough. One glass is only a tease. It brings the warmth, but doesn't stop the ache grinding through my insides. So I pour a second; then a third, then a fourth and continue on until my vision is cloudy and I feel as if I'm soaring, climbing higher and higher into a nothingness, where there is no pain, no sorrow and the thought of Anastasia and him together is so far off, it is no longer a concept. For a brief moment, I wonder if this is how the crackwhore felt after feeding her veins with her numbing agent of choice. Did her heroin and crack dull her mind, bringing her to this same euphoric nothingness, making it easier to sit back and witness the horrors unfolding around her? And if so, what does that make me? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree it seems. Like mother like son, we're both one in the same. Shutting my eyes tight, I slam down the morbid thoughts before they can go any further. This is why my mind needs to be preoccupied. Work. I need to work.

What seems like only a minute later, I hear a soft knock on the office door. Before I can bark at whoever it is, Andrea opens the door and enters.

"Sir? We have an issue downstairs that needs your immediate attention. Someone who is on the non-admittance list is on the premises and would like to see you right away." Dread forms in the pit of my stomach as I try to ascertain who this person could possibly be. Most of the people on the non-admittance list are people who've been terminated and anyone my security team considers a threat to me or my family.

"Well, who is it?"

Clearing her throat, Andrea answers, "It is Mrs. Elena Talon, Sir. She says you will want to speak with her. She made quite a scene downstairs when she was first refused, causing Rebecca in Reception to call me and I immediately informed security of the matter." Fuck, this day just keeps getting better and better.

"Where is she now?"

"She's waiting in the first floor conference room." Letting out a sigh, I rub both hands over my face, and exhale, feeling the weariness of the day suddenly falling on my shoulders. I should turn her away. Personally kick her plastic manipulative ass out of the building. She's fucked with me already today and I get the feeling this little visit is only another way to fuck with me further.

"Fine", I relent, knowing I'm playing right into her hands. Call it morbid fascination if you will. "Have someone in security escort her up personally and when you're finished, you're free to leave for the evening."

For a split second, a look of amazement flashes across her face and just as quickly, it's back to neutral again. "Very well", she says leaving me wondering if I'm actually losing my mind. The thought especially occurs to me as I find myself, readjusting my tie and smoothing my appearance for Elena's benefit. The thought of her seeing me befuddled and out of control troubles me and as much as I'd like to deny it, I know it is a reflexive residue, an involuntary twitch from our previous relationship when I was her submissive. She's known about this twitch, twisted it for her own gain, used it as a way to manipulate me long after I ceased being her submissive. Getting my mind focus, I build up my walls brick by brick, hardening my façade, shutting away my troubles. With Elena every word uttered has a double meaning and nothing is as it seems. She's like a dangerous cobra, lying in wait and the minute she finds your vulnerable spot, she strikes, stinging you long before you even realize it. Another reason why I loathe the woman.

The smell of Chanel No. 5 slithers up my back and around my neck, attacking my nostrils long before she even enters the room. The smell sits rancid in my nostrils, giving off the same aromatic effect as a bag of moth balls would. There was a time when smelling this perfume would harden me instantly, but after years of indulging in Anastasia's natural subtle scent, everything else seems garish and pales in comparison.

"Christian", she says, my name slithering off her tongue as she saunters into my office closing the door behind her. I'm almost relieved at seeing her dressed in her customary head to toe black, her sleek figure wrapped tightly in a simple jersey dress, her hair a little shorter, but still in that severe platinum color. Besides a few wrinkles around the edges, Elena has held up well over the past few years. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with regular maintenance visits to the local plastic surgeon and not Mother Nature being overly generous to her. But even so, she still looks the same and it's somewhat comforting knowing not everything has completely changed. "It's been a long time. So long it seems that I'm on some kind of a non-admittance list. Really, Christian, You're always going out of your way to hurt my feelings."

"You haven't exactly proven yourself a true friend Elena. In fact, the last time I saw you, you didn't have very nice things to say," I retort.

"That was under very different circumstances. And as you remember, my choice words were not directed at you specifically", she replied as her cunning green eyes takes me in, not missing a single thing. Smirking, she says. "Besides, that was a long time ago and as you know, I'm in a very different place than I was back then."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is", she says in jest. "Haven't you heard? I'm an honest woman again."

"Ha. Were you ever?" I quip.

Standing directly in front of me, her red lips slowly curving into a knowing smile, "Now there's the Christian Grey I know. The one who speaks his mind and is always ready with the quick back-handed quips. I'm glad to see there's something left of the real you in there."

God she's fucking infuriating with her duplicitous words. Honestly, I don't think Elena has ever spoken a direct word to anyone in her life. Everything's a game, a puzzle to be pieced together. I used to enjoy this cat and mouse game we played, of besting each other, proving our intellectual superiority. Now, the entire thing is just fucking tedious. She hasn't been in my presence for over five minutes and already I want to strangle her. I need a fucking drink.

Ignoring her comment, I walk over to the wet bar and pour two glasses of Macallan whisky, one for each of us. My need for a quick drink far out weighing any desire to be discourteous. With the same irritating smirk on her face, she takes the offered glass and strides across the room, towards the framed pictures of Phoebe and Teddy hanging on the wall. As she studies them closely, a feeling of unease turns my stomach as her eyes lingers a second too long on Teddy's photograph and suddenly I begin to feel uncomfortable in her presence.

At times I find I have trouble reconciling my previous perception of our initial sexual relationship and what I now understand of its true nature. Before Anastasia, I'd maintained that being Elena's submissive at fifteen years old saved me from a life destined to mimic that of the Crackwhore's. I was so out of control then, so beyond reproach that not even the love of my parents could save me. Until that first stinging slap across my face, nothing reached me, nothing got through. The pain she gave me was like a jolt to the system, pulling me up from a long hard decline. It was what I needed, what I wanted, what I craved and because she gave it to me, I felt I owed her for it.

At the same time, my views have evolved somewhat since becoming a parent. If I were to take myself out of the picture and insert Teddy or Phoebe, it is plain to see that what Elena did, taking advantage of a troubled child and using him for her own sexual gain was abhorrent. And yet, despite everything I now know, I still can't bring myself to call her a pedophile, a child molester – all the words Anastasia, Flynn and even my mother have used to describe her. But what I do know for certain, is that I may be unable to accept our relationship for what it truly was, but I'll be damned if I'd ever allow her around my children and I suppose in a way, that says it all. "It's so strange seeing them. I know they exist, but seeing them looking so much like you…You being a father, it's…odd", she mutters, moving closer to pictures.

"Are you going to tell me what you want? Or are you just going to stand there and stare at my children?" I demand, feeling my temper rising by the second.

Turning around, she raises a questioning eyebrow and purses her lips. "Am I not worthy enough to gaze upon young Lord and Lady Grey?"

"Elena, I'm warning you, do not talk about my children", I snap. "You have five seconds to tell me why you're here before I kick you the fuck out."

Accepting my serious tone, she relents. "Fine. Did you like the little gift I sent you?" She asks slyly sitting on the white leather couch.

"What gift is that, Elena?"

"Don't be a smartass, Christian. I'm talking about Kelly Bishop. I know she's a lot different than your usual preference, but I personally think it's time you got over your kink for little, dull, pale-faced brunettes and broaden your horizons. She's been an established submissive for some years now, very well trained and I have it on good authority that she's never, ever used a safe word. I'm absolutely sure you will be pleased with her."

Pulsing waves of something brutal and hungry begins to agitate just beneath my skin, coming alive as my earlier daydream of Kelly Bishop spread opened and tied up for my pleasure replays in my mind. This feeling is more intense; more virile and violent than anything I've ever felt before and it hungers for release. It hungers to be let loose. Given the happenings of the day, the offer is tempting, now more so than ever. But the thought of giving in to Elena, of giving her the satisfaction of being right, is almost unbearable than tolerating the hunger inside me.

"I'm not twenty-one anymore, Elena. If I wanted a submissive, I could find one on my own. Besides, I'm not into the lifestyle anymore. I don't need the hard shit." _Are you sure about that? Look at you, you can barely keep it together. You know what you need._

"And exactly how has that been working out for you? From the look of things, not too well."

"Fuck you!" I yell, turning my back, not wanting her to see the slight sheen of sweat forming on my skin.

"Christian, there's no need to get upset. I'm only here because I'm worried about you?"

"You, worried about me?" I laugh. "Give me a fucking break, Elena. You don't worry about anyone other than yourself. Besides, I don't fucking need your worry."

"Well, apparently you do", she admonishes, marching in front of me, grabbing the glass of whisky from my hand. "Tell me, Christian. How many glasses have you had today? One, two, ten? The sun has barely gone down and already you're drunk. The Christian I knew, the one who was always in control, the one who knew his limits, would not be throwing back whiskey shots all goddam day."

Grabbing the glass from her, I shout "What the fuck do you know? You don't know me? I….."

"You're damn right, I don't know you. Look at you. I'm trying to find the man, I knew. The man you were before she came along and took your balls away, but I can't find him. You're almost forty years old and you're acting like an insipid teenager, getting arrested for driving drunk, having your mug shot plastered all over tabloids."

Turning my back on her, I walk to the window feeling as if my entire body could combust at any minute.

"This is all her fault. She did this to you. She came into your well controlled life and unraveled all my hard work. She made you believe you weren't good enough for her and lead you around by the nose with her so-called virtue, until you gave up all that you needed, all that you ever desired just to be with her. You gave her everything she wanted and look at what she's done to you. She's destroyed you, Christian."

Rounding on her, my nostrils flaring, my breath coming heavy, I yell, "Shut the fuck up about Anastasia. You don't know anything about her", I scream throwing the crystal glass across the room. The loud shattering doesn't faze her, she continues, relentlessly poking and prodding, waiting for a reaction. My temper is at a dangerous level, ready to blow. Not trusting the close proximity to her, I walk back to the window over-looking the city, my fists clenching at my side.

"I _know_ about Anastasia", Elena seethes, venom dripping from her voice. "She hasn't been exactly discreet with her doctor. People are beginning to talk Christian. She's making you look like fucking fool, who can't get a handle on his cheating wife and the longer you let this thing with her go on without putting a stop to it, the more damage it will do to your reputation. She's turning you into the laughing stock of Seattle. You need to take back control and get your life together."

Even though she's remained a good distance away spewing her words from across the room, her voice seems as if it's right inside my head. No matter how far I try to get away from it, it resonates loudly and sticks deep, entrenching itself inside because I know it's true. I'm not the man I use to be. The man I was before Anastasia came into my life and sucked me into her web doesn't exist anymore. She's neutered him, brought him to his knees with empty promises of hearts and flowers and more. I gave up my lifestyle to be with her, gave her my love, my devotion, everything I possessed, but that wasn't enough for her. No, she demanded everything. She wanted me to relinquish the one thing she knew I needed to survive and when I refused, when I fought against her demands, she punished me by leaving me, by taking everything I cherished, wringing me dry. Turning me into nothing more than a laughing stock, someone to be ridiculed and pitied. Well, fuck her.

"The day you announced your engagement, I knew this would happen to you. And I knew that as soon as you married her, she would try to change everything that made you such a powerful man. She doesn't understand you. She doesn't understand your needs and what having absolute control means to a man like you. She fed you bullshit about love and romance, but what she didn't tell you, was that it doesn't last forever. It never does", she continues softly, joining me at the window, looking out over the city. We stand side by side, Elena and me, two broken souls. She claims to have never given her love to anyone, but no one who's never loved can rage against it so vehemently. No matter how much she tries to deny it, she cannot fool me. "But now you know. Now you realize why I've always maintained that love is for fools. It feels good when everything is all roses and everyone's happy. But now that the love is gone, Christian, tell me how do you feel? Tell me how it feels when you're alone in your tower, looking over the city drinking your twenty-five thousand dollar scotch. You try to concentrate, try to keep your mind focused on work. But you can't. Why? Because it's busy conjuring pictures of your wife and your kids, sitting around a table, eating dinner, laughing and having a good time with him and not thinking about you. Tell me Christian, after everything you've lost, after everything you've been through, tell me that I'm wrong."

Her words are deafening to my ears, packed with so many unwelcomed truths I don't want to hear. It kills me that she's the one to call it, that she's the one to tap into my brain and retrieve all the wretched thoughts. I've spent so many nights over the course of the past year contemplating this very fact. Was it worth it? Letting down my protective walls and allowing Anastasia into my heart only to have her rip it apart? Was rubbing my hands against her soft virgin skin and believing I was entitled to every second of it worth my sanity, my control? The pain tightening in my chest answers my question for me. It mocks me and calls me every imbecilic name in the book for believing it. Taking a sip of my twenty-five dollar scotch does nothing to ease my ache. It's run its course, rendered useless. My body is thirsty for something more potent, something it's been denied for years. It needs to be released, let loose and I'm almost afraid of the damage it will do. Fuck it. I'm wounded, who gives shit?

"She… She's pregnant with his child", I admit, speaking it out loud for the first time. Discussing another one of Anastasia's pregnancies with Elena while drunk isn't lost on me and a part of me secretly laughs at the displeasure it would cause her if she knew. "We're getting a divorce. It doesn't matter whether it was worth it or not. It's over now."

Elena's lids are peeled back, her green eyes bulging in shock. She blinks a few times and in a split second, her face settles. "There's nothing stopping you now, Christian. She's abandoned you, but I'm here for you_. _Let me call Kelly. Let me do this for you."

"I don't know, Elena. It's been a long time. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

With a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, she moves closer, the heat from her breasts burning into my shoulder. I'm overwhelmed by her, taken in again. "Then it's a good thing I came to you when I did", she purrs in my ears as she grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly, her sharp crimson nails digging into my skin. All I can hear is the heavy beating of my heart and the rush of blood leaving my head and pooling right in my middle. Releasing my hand, she walks away and opens the door, picking up her purse before she leaves. I almost scream at her, begging her not to leave me. And just as I open my mouth to beg her, just before I drop to my knees, she stops suddenly and turns around. With a slow, satisfied smile, she lifts her hand and beckons me, "Come to me, Christian." And just like that, as with everything else, a reflexive switch flicks on in my brain and I mindlessly walk to her, taking her hand, following behind her. I know what it is and if I was in my right mind, I would've fought against it. But I don't want to feel anymore. I just don't want to feel.

**Author's Note:** **Okay... I know. Christian has gone through a lot today and he's having a hard time handling it. But don't worry, the bitch troll won't have him for long. The next chapter we'll go back into the past and stay there until we lead up to the present. No more jumping around. Thanks again for your patience and please review. If you haven't noticed, I'm a complete whore for them!**


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hello, thank you again to all the wonderful reviews, favorites, follows everything. So, this chapter we will be jumping into the past about six months after Anastasia found out about Christian's little shenanigans. As I told you before, we will just go straight through from the past and pick up where we left off last chapter. I know, the flashback could be annoying, but it was a necessary evil. Although this chapter will be light on the action, it is meant to set-up a lot of things to come. Hope you like it. And again, keep in mind Ana will not do what you thing might be coming until Christian screws up royally. Again, if you guys need any clarification, please feel free to PM me. Also, special shout out to all of my cyber friends on Facebook. They light a fire under my ass and motivate me to write. Thanks again.

I do not own Fifty Shades

Chapter Eleven

_Anastasia's Pov (one year after their first initial argument_)

"Mom, can I ask you something?" Teddy asks as he sits at the breakfast table, his head propped up against his hand while broodingly pushing his pancakes around on his plate. All morning he's been like this, walking around the house in a bleak and gloomy mood, snapping at his sister. Not surprisingly, Teddy's similarities with his father aren't just physical. It seems he's also inherited Christian's mercurial mood swings. The only difference is that unlike Christian, if given time to sit and brood with his problem, Teddy eventually relents and tells me what is on his mind.

"Of course sweetheart, you know you can ask me anything", I smile reassuringly before taking a sip of my tea. "What is it?"

Pursing his lips, he looks me in the eye with intense gray eyes then asks, "Are you and Dad getting a divorce?"

"What?" I exclaim, spitting my tea back into the cup.

"Jeremy told me that his parents got a divorce when his Dad moved out of his house and never came back. Dad moved out and he didn't come home? Are you two getting a divorce?"

"What's a divorce, Mommy?" Phoebe questions, her eyes darting between Teddy and me. I try to move my mouth. Try to get a handle on my young children asking very grown up questions. How can I allay their fears with a reassuring answer when I don't know what's going to happen to our family? Are we getting a divorce? Do we still love each other? These are the same questions that have kept me awake for longer than I can remember. I've lain awake in bed, turning nonstop unable to wrap my mind around the fact that my husband, my children's father hasn't slept under the same roof with us in almost a year. And with every passing night, it is becoming more and more unclear if he'll ever be with us again.

"A divorce is when your Mom and Dad don't love each other anymore, so they break up and get married to other people," Teddy offers, beating me to the punch. My eyes swing to him in shock not quite believing what my ears are hearing.

With tears crystalizing the horror in her blue eyes, Phoebe gets up from her chair around the table and jumps into my lap. "I don't want you and daddy to get a divorce, Mommy," Phoebe cries in the crook of my neck, wrapping her soft arms tightly around me.

Trying to hold my nerves together, I bite down on my bottom lip to stave off the tears threatening to fall. My heart is twisting in my chest, hurting for my way too young children who are grappling with issues far too old for their young minds to comprehend. The world as they knew it has been ripped out from underneath them and try as they might to understand why their dad doesn't live with them anymore or why they have to split their time between the only home they've ever known and an apartment they've only gone to on occasion, they can't. And what's worse, I can't give them the emotional security they are begging for. The reality of my children's plight and the notion that I might be sentencing them to the same unhappiness and insecurity I felt after my parent's divorce, saddens me even more because I'd promised myself, promised my unborn children that I'd never let them down the way my parents did. What does that make me? _A liar. A failure._

"Teddy, come here", I motion to him, opening my free arm. Eyeing me for a split second, he reluctantly walks towards me and leans into my side, looking down as I squeeze him into a tight hug. "Listen, the two of you, your father and I are not getting a divorce." _Liar._

"Then if you're not getting a divorce, why isn't dad living with us?" _Smart boy. Even your children are able to face what you cannot. _

"Remember what daddy and I told the two of you, we have a few things we need to figure out and the best way to do that is for us to live separately for a little while," I try to explain, remembering Flynn's recommendation to take the time and look both of them in the eye. "I know the two of you miss your father and believe me he misses the both of you as well. But you see him every single weekend. Plus he comes over and tucks you in when he can. That's how much he loves you and I promise that mommy and daddy will always be your parents and we'll always love you. Okay?"

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Phoebe nods her head, giving me a kiss before squirming off my lap and returning to her almost finished breakfast. She's back to being her carefree five year-old self, already forgetting our conversation and back to preoccupying her mind with whatever it is five year-old girls think about. But Teddy, my son isn't as satisfied. His face is still drawn as he resumes his spot at the table, quietly finishing his breakfast. I can only imagine what's going on inside that head of his. He's probably dissecting my words, searching for reassurance and because he's his father's son, I'm sure he's already realized that there was nothing reassuring in them. They were empty and full of uncertainty and as my little boy ignores me and he quietly finishes his breakfast, I'm most certain I've failed my children yet again.

"Guys, why don't you finish up your breakfast, so Sawyer can take you to school. He's already out front and I'm sure you don't want to keep him waiting."

"Aren't you taking us to school?" Teddy asks as he swallows the last of his pancakes and finishes off his orange juice.

"No, baby I'm not. I think it's time we go back to our old routine. You know, where Sawyer takes the two of you to school and then brings you back. It's the way we've always done it and I think the best thing is for us to go back to our old routine," I explain as I move them along to the front door, buttoning their jackets and handing them their respective book bags. Flynn had recommended that we keep to the children's normal flow of life as much as possible and not deviate too much from routine. Of course, both Christian and I had ignored his recommendations and out of guilt, indulged the children with our time and attention. I've gone as far as allowing them to sleep with me in the massive king size bed, filling the empty space that only gets bigger and more pronounced as the night passes on. I must admit, it is more for my benefit than theirs. But I have to be realistic. Coddling them serves no other purpose than to make both Christian and I feel better about what we're doing to them.

"But I like it when you take us to school", Phoebe whines, her little lips setting into a pout.

Smoothing my hand down her pigtail, I crouch down to her level and smile at her little face that's so similar to my own, but far more angelic and beautiful. "I know, Phoebe. But I'll be home when you get back from school and I promise, we'll do something fun. Okay?"

"Maybe you can ask dad to come over and have dinner with us?" She asks with hope sparkling in her eyes. Swallowing the lump, clogging my passage way, I continue to smile noncommittally, wrapping her in my arms.

"Come on, Sawyer is waiting for you." Without further discussion, I steer them out the door and into the awaiting SUV. Buckling them in their respective seats, I give each a gentle kiss on the cheek, wishing them a wonderful day, all the while keeping the semi reassuring smile intact. I keep the tears at bay holding on to the illusion just long enough until the SUV pulls away and leaves me looking at the rear lights.

As soon as the SUV is out of sight, taking away my children, my shoulders slumps and instantly the façade I've been holding up, crumbles to the ground, disintegrating into dust. It takes every ounce of energy I have to hold it up, to cast an illusion of a strong reassuring mother who is confident everything will be okay and it's almost a relief to let go and let it all fall off.

It is burdensome this thing of answering questions I don't know the answer to. Making promises I'm not sure I'll be able to keep and the more I have to do it, the more resentful I feel. Of whom? I'm not sure. Perhaps Christian, perhaps myself. I don't know. All I know is that I've reached a point, where if something isn't done quickly, if this thing between Christian and me isn't resolved, I may not be able to keep this farce up any longer and the prospect of that scares the shit out of me.

Dragging my feet against the carefully crafted stone driveway, I enter my house, shutting the door behind me. A loud echo reverberates throughout the house, reminding me of the emptiness and loneliness that usually ensues. Since Phoebe started Kindergarten, I've given Gail the mornings off so she can have some additional time to run errands and take care of her own home. Ryan and Reynolds knows to stay out of my way and Sawyer doesn't come back to the house until the kids are finished with school and as a result, for the better part of the day, I'm alone with my own torturous thoughts.

I hate being alone. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I went from living with Ray, to living with Kate to moving in with Christian without ever having the experience of living all by myself - of being my own company. Maybe if I'd had the opportunity to live out this one life experience, I'd be better equipped to handle being alone without feeling lonely. And what's worse, what pisses me off about it, is the fact that the loneliness is only a symptom of the bigger problem – the yearning ache I have for Christian. Every time I think about our estrangement and the fact that I haven't kissed my husband or held his body in so long, it tears at my will, letting loose this unrelenting desire to give in to his unreasonable demands just to be with him again. It's a small price to pay, I tell myself. My independence will be worth the sacrifice just to feel the sweet heaviness of his body on top of mine, stretching me open, bringing me to places where only he can. And every time, just before my resolve breaks, just before I pick up the phone to call him or my car keys to drive to him and beg him to come back to me, my subconscious rears her head and reminds me that he's the one who's chosen this estrangement. He's the one who refuses to compromise; he's the one who walks out of our counseling sessions every fucking time he hears something he doesn't like. If he loved our family as much as he claims, he would be here with us. He wouldn't allow his pride and his bullshit need to keep me in my place tear our family apart. And every time she reminds me of this, of all his actions and inactions, bitterness takes over and dispels all the yearning and replaces it with a firm determination to stand my ground and not let him walk all over me. _And yet here you are, one year later, still in the same position you were in. While he's out there, busy acquiring companies and earning millions, you're here still playing the dutiful wife; still subjugating yourself to him. Wake up, Anastasia. _

Fuck! After all the drama and heartache of the last year, I'm still stuck in the same position. To say that my self-confidence has been undermined by Christian's machinations, would be an understatement. Still after six months, I'm having a hard time taking another chance and putting myself out there in the job market again. Knowing he's out there, lurking in the shadows cooking up schemes for the satisfaction of keeping me down does nothing but put me on edge and always on the defensive. How can I possibly go into an interview without automatically assuming that my prospective boss has been bought off by my megalomaniac estranged husband? Every declination would be tainted by his gross invasion and when I am passed on for a position I feel I'm qualified for, I know in the back of my mind, I'll always suspect him. That's what he's done. He's made me mistrust him in a profound way and I don't know how to live with that. He still hasn't admitted to paying off the companies I interviewed with. We haven't discussed it further since the night I confronted him and ended up having the most devastating fight we've ever had. Ripping each other apart verbally did nothing to solve what's really at the heart of our issues and instead of coming together and fixing our problems, we've ended up much farther apart than we've ever been and I don't know if we can be the same again.

Feeling my already low mood plummeting even further, I walk through my empty house into my library and decidedly plop myself down on the sofa under the window. Feeling my body ease into the soft cushions, I wrap my sweater closer to my body and let myself go. As if given permission, the tears freely fall down my face, letting themselves be known. They'd been hiding from view, kept at bay by the presence of my children and now that they are gone, they no longer have to hide. Alone, I can bathe in my sorrow and contemplate my regrets freely.

Deep down, I know I'm doing the right thing by not giving in to Christian until he's accepted that I need my independence, that I need the ability to stand on my own two feet and to determine my own path. But as I lay, curled in on myself with sorrowful tears rolling down my face, I have to wonder if all this heartache has been worth it. It's been over a year and still we are no where closer to coming to a consensus and the longer he refuses to see reason, the longer he freezes me out for daring to stand up to him, the more I feel myself falling further and further into a long depression and I don't want that to happen.

I stood my ground against Christian and held him accountable for his actions because I thought if he saw how serious I was, he would see reason and eventually give up. But he hasn't. He's dug in his heels and called my bluff. Instead of understanding where I'm coming from and compromising for the betterment of his children, he's held our happiness hostage and presented his ransom. If I want him to come home, if I want my family intact again, all I have to do is to lay down my will and let him be my Master in not only the bedroom but in all things. Just the thought of it constricts my throat, blocking any air from moving freely and if the thought of submitting to Christian affects me so badly, how will I ever survive being with him? Now that I've had to live without the constant rules, now that I've tasted freedom, the sweetness still lingers on my tongue and even if Christian and I reconciled, I know we can never go back to the way things were. I would never survive living under his oppressive control and yet despite all that, my obsessive love for Christian battles my resolve, relentlessly chipping away at it and the thought is so depressing because I know it's only a matter of time before I give in to him.

_You're so fucking pathetic. Look at you? You're finally out from underneath his thumb and instead of taking advantage of it you're lying around pinning for him, giving him exactly what he wants. When are you going to wake-up, Anastasia? _Ugh, she's right. Laying about feeling sorry for myself isn't going to change my situation and it most certainly will not bring Christian to reason. If anything, falling into a depression and giving up my aspirations will only feed the beast and encourage him even more. I need to get off my ass and I do something constructive. I can't give up now.

Fired up with more motivation than I've had in a long time, I quickly get up from the couch and head to my desk. Booting up my laptop, I spend the next hour or so scouring the internet for any appealing opportunities. Of course I'm well aware of the enormity of Christian's influence and the fact that it stretches much further than I first anticipated, but I am still holding out hope that there is an opportunity for me that not even he can upend.

As I scan the website of an online publication dedicated to reporting the happenings inside the independent publishing world, an article with a familiar name in the title catches my eye. Clicking on it, I read the article carefully, not missing a word. As I finish, a sliver of possibilities spring eternal as a thought imbeds its self in to my mind, causing excitement to bubble inside me. Biting my lip, I sit back in the chair and gaze out the window, my eyes missing the sun's rays bouncing off the glass as I contemplate the implications of this endeavor. Maybe this is the opportunity I've been waiting for. Nothing happens before its time and I have to believe that all the set backs, all of the disappointments were necessary for this moment to be possible. This is it. This is the opportunity I needed to seize and I'll be damned if I will miss it.

Excitedly, I run out of the study and up the stairs to my bedroom, ignoring the profound sense of loss I feel whenever I'm in the master bedroom. Stripping out of my pajamas, I hurriedly choose a navy, three quarter sleeve boat neck shift dress and slip it over my head, ignoring how loosely the seams skim my hips and falls to my knees. Surprisingly, Christian hasn't mentioned all the weight I've lost since our separation. With all of our unresolved issues, my weight is the last thing we need to add on to our ever-growing list and I'm pretty certain he hasn't brought it up for that very same reason. If I'm truthful, I have to admit, a part of me, the part that loves him despite his flaws, misses the way he fusses over my wellbeing. That's how he shows his love and although most of the time it can be overwhelming - suffocating even - I truly miss it when it is measured in small doses.

Not wanting to get distracted, I clear my head of any thoughts of Christian and concentrate on brushing my hair and applying a light coating of make-up, paying extra attention to the circles darkening around my eyes. It really doesn't make any sense, thinking about Christian and if everything works out as planned, I'll be dealing with him soon enough. Stretching my lips, I step back and examine myself. My eyes look even bigger than normal, but at least the concealer managed to hide the tell tale signs of my woes, making me feel – for the first time in a long time – good about myself.

With renewed purpose, I make my way downstairs stopping in the kitchen for the keys to my car before grabbing my handbag and coat. Before I leave, I write a note to Gail, telling her I'll be home before the kids arrive later this afternoon and if she needs me to call my cell phone. I manage not to bump into anyone as I make my way to the front door and to the garage where my car is parked, but I know lurking in the back are Christian's watch dogs - Ryan and Reynolds. They're both pleasant enough, always greeting me with nothing but respect and deference, but I know the truth. I know damn well that even though they are assigned to protect me, they do not work for me. They work for Christian and as such, they report every single move I make to him. _He doesn't even live here anymore and he's still running your life; paying his goons to watch your every move, while you have no idea what he's doing. You shouldn't have to sneak out of your own home._ Ugh, not know.

"Mrs. Grey?" A voice calls, just as I back out of the garage, onto the large circular driveway. Stopping the car, I wind down the window and glare at Ryan as he walks towards my car.

"Yes, Ryan," I answer, trying to hide my irritation. As much as he gets on my nerves, I can't seem to be impolite

"Ah, Mrs. Grey, we're on orders to accompany you whenever you leave the grounds," he explains. "If you'd like to be taken somewhere, Reynolds or I would be more than happy to take you."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I glare at Ryan, taking note at how he's addressing me as if I'm Teddy or Phoebe. He's only fucking one year older than me and he's treating me like a fucking child, not his employer. Is this how Christian instructed them to treat me? Fuck this.

"Thank you, but that's quite alright. I'm only going downtown", I assert, keeping my eyes focused on his icy blues. "I don't need you or Reynolds to accompany me."

"Mr. Grey made it clear that you are not to leave the property alone. I'm sorry, ma'am, but I cannot allow you to leave without an escort."

_See what he's doing? He's made you a prisoner in your own home. Are you going to sit there and take it?_ Red hot rage, so heated and potent, churns through my very being and it takes everything I have inside not open the car door and let loose on him. Before speaking, I take a calming breath, reminding myself that these words aren't coming from Ryan; they are a direct edict passed down from my warden. He is only following directs. But even so, I have to assert myself; I have to prove to him that I'm in control – not Christian.

"Ryan, I know Mr. Grey hired you and you feel the need to follow his orders. But let me make this clear, Mr. Grey doesn't live here anymore and he doesn't make any decisions for me. If I want to drive myself to an appointment without you or anyone else lurking around, spying on me for Mr. Grey, then I will. And if Mr. Grey has a problem with that, you can tell him to take it up with me." Before he can answer, I wind up the window and press on the gas, flying down the drive way and through the gates. It is hard to see his face in the rear view mirror, but from the way he throws his hand in the air and runs into the house, I can tell he's pretty fucking mad. He's mostly likely running to rat me out to the big boss. I don't care. Fuck him and Fuck Christian too.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Mr. Brooks finally asks after sitting in complete silence for over ten minutes, absorbing the information I'd just unloaded on him. To say he was shocked to hear I had unexpectedly shown up at RHB Publishing, without an appointment asking to discuss a very important business matter was an understatement. This is the first time I've seen Mr. Brooks since the day of my interview when he admitted what Christian had done and I must admit a part of me was nervous at the prospect. As much as I know this entire debacle was Christian's doing and that Mr. Brooks had no allegiance to me, a part of me thought he truly liked my ideas and would've had enough integrity to stand up to Christian and not be so easily susceptible to a bribe. That goes to show how naive I was. Thanks to Christian, my eyes have been fully opened and now I am fully aware of what it takes to get what I want. Now, my only hope is that I have enough of it to entice Mr. Brooks.

"Yes, Mr. Brooks. I've thought about it and I know this will be a wonderful opportunity for the both of us," I answer, sitting back in the chair directly across from him.

"You are aware that RHB has been suffering financially for a long time? Our only source of revenue has been our "Rocket" series and even that's been drying up since we lost our distribution deal five months ago."

"Yes, Mr. Brooks, I am aware of RHB's financial troubles. I read about it this morning and that's why I'm here."

"Please", he raises his right hand to me. "After what I did to you, it's an insult to hear you address me with respect. Please, call me Roger." He sighs as he sits back in his chair. He looks a bit older than the last time I'd seen him, his face now marred with the wear and tear of a man who's been faced with the prospect of losing his life's work. He looks shrunken, defeated and I can't help but to feel sorry for him. "I've thought of you a number of times since we last spoke. A few times, I've picked up the phone to apologize for what I did and I always end up chickening out. I have daughters Mrs. Grey and I know…"

"That's all finished with, Roger. You weren't the only one involved in the matter and considering your situation, I can see how an offer like my husband's could've be enticing. And please, call me Anastasia."

He smiles, "That's kind of you, Anastasia. But it doesn't excuse my behavior. I allowed money to corrupt my integrity and I'll always be sorry for that."

"Thank you, for the apology, but if you really would like to make it up to me, please, allow me to become a partner in your company."

"Anastasia, I love this company. I built it from the bottom and watched it flourish into something really special. But even I know when it's time to call it quits. We're bleeding money, I've lost my distribution contract and no other company or bank will even take my phone calls."

A thought, flashes through my mind and before I can unfold and examine it, I blurt it out, "He did this, didn't he? Because you told me about his scheme, he's set out to ruin you?"

He shrugs, "You don't cross one of the most powerful men in America and still have a thriving business in the morning," he answers.

"I am so sorry", I whisper, shaking my head. This is so typical Christian. Someone has the balls to go against his master plan and he ruins their business. What kind of man is he?

"There's no need to be sorry, Anastasia. It' not your fault," he tries to assure me. "All of my financial troubles began long before this mess with your husband started."

"That may be, but he most certainly exacerbated your troubles. Please, let me help you. I truly believe that with a fresh perspective and delving into new markets, we can rebuild RWB into something truly special." Fresh excitement flushes through me as I run through my ideas on how we can bring RHB from the brink by changing the way it publish books. With new technology, sooner or later, printed books will no longer be the norm and since RHB is a small company, it only makes sense to eventually move in to the eBook form. For almost two hours, we discuss my ideas and how to move RHB into the future. He doesn't say much; he just sits back and listens, adding his input when necessary. He even went as far as allowing me to take a look at the financial reports and meet with his head financial officer and a few of his editors. I have a feeling his accommodation has been mainly to scare me away than anything else. After carefully examining the financial records, I'm a little weary but still very determined to see this through. He needs the financial backing and helping to rebuild RHB would be the perfect dis with all the power of Christian Grey raining down on him, there is no way his life's work will be able to survive without partnering with me.

"So, do we have a deal?" I ask.

"You know your husband will not be pleased by this?"

"My husband isn't an issue. This is my money – not his. I made this money from the sale of Grey Publishing and it is my right to do as I wish with it. My husband doesn't make decisions for me and I truly do not give a fuck if he'll be pleased with it or not", I pronounce, trying to keep my anger in check. Most undoubtedly, Christian will be furious and will try to find a way to derail my new endeavor. But I don't give a shit. He put this all in motion the minute he sold my company from under me and besides, he's the one that claimed the proceeds from the sale belonged to me. II've earned this right and no matter what the ramifications, I'm going to do it.

Sitting back in his chair, he studies me, his blue eyes flashing in forlorn awe. "I should've told his people to shove his money up his ass and hired you the minute I got off the phone", he declared with a smile. "That was my bad decision and I'll always be reminded of it. You're a very shrewd young woman, Anastasia."

"Thank you. So, do we have a deal?" I ask, practically bouncing off my chair.

"I think you have some pretty terrific, innovative ideas, Anastasia. But I don't think being a partnership is something that would be ideal for either one of us", he states, before pausing. My face begins to fall as I feel my heart stop. He hesitates, then writes something on a piece of paper and slides it across the desk, leaving it in front of me. With nervous hands, I pick up the paper, taking one last look at him before dropping my eyes and reading it.

My brows furrows in confusion as I look at the numbers written on the paper, "What is this?" I ask, not understanding.

"That", he points. "Is my asking price?"

In shock disbelief, I look down at the paper again, reading in the ridiculously low number he'd written on the paper. How can he ask such a low price? Granted, considering the current condition of the company, I would've asked well below the market value. But still, this is too low. "This is your asking price?"

He nods his head, "Yes. And before you go on about it, I don't need it. I have my own money and I'm looking forward to a comfortable and happy retirement with my wife in Florida. That is to cover the outstanding debt we have and to give severance packages to the who ever you decide to let go when you take over. I hope that it won't be many of them. I know you will want your own people working for you. Just keep in mind, the failure of RHB was my doing – not theirs".

A profound swelling catches in my throat, as his eyes begin to water. For so long I'd judged Mr. Brooks. Judged him for being so weak and so greedy that he'd go against his principals all for the allure of money. I was wrong. It wasn't just about the money; it was about what the money could've done, what the money could've saved. His life's work, the lives of his workers and I wonder if I had found myself on the brink of financial ruin; on the brink of letting all my people down, would I have taken Christian money and crush another's spirit. I don't know. What I do know is that I cannot judge him for it.

"I'll try my best to do what I can," I say as sincerely as possible. Of course I have all intentions of interviewing the entire staff who are currently employed at RHB and determine whether or I will keep them on. But I've already compiled a list of people I worked successfully with at Grey Publishing. Mostly those are currently unemployed strictly because of Christian's selfishness.

"So, what do you say Anastasia? Do we have a deal?" With unchecked enthusiasm, I jump out of my chair and vigorously shake his hand, sealing our deal. It will be a daunting experience, resuscitating this failing company, bringing it back to life. Yet, despite knowing all of that, despite knowing there is a good chance that all my effort could end up being for nothing, I don't care. I don't care because it will be my failure or my success and the thought of being in control of my own destiny is so intoxicating, it is worth all the risks.

"Now that we've agreed on the small stuff, all we need to do is hammer out the formalities", I state to Mr. Brooks as he walks me out of his office, ending our meeting. "And I'm sure I don't have to mention that I'd like to keep this under wraps until everything is taken care of. I wouldn't want any outside parties to influence our deal before everything has been properly signed over." Without having to say which outside parties I'm referring to, Mr. Brooks nods his head in understanding.

"Of course, Anastasia, you do not have to worry about that. I'll keep everything confidential until you tell me otherwise. Have your lawyers get in touch with me and we can move on with the details."

I smile at him, shaking his hand again before walking through the reception area and out into the cool fall air. The sun is unnaturally bright for this time of year. The moisture from earlier this morning has dried up, leaving only a tinge of coldness as a reminder of the season. The busy streets are littered with business types - talking or tapping away on smartphones- all in a rush to get to wherever they need to go and it's exhilarating, knowing that after five years of being out of the game, I'll soon be one of them. And the best part of it is that I'll be my own boss again.

As much as I loved running Grey Publishing, I never deluded myself into thinking I was actually the one calling the shots. Yes, I ran the day-to-day operations of Grey publishing, but Christian always had a major input on budgeting and taking new directions. It was one of the reasons why I constantly urged Christian to sign over complete control to me. Back then, I thought his reluctance was due to my inexperience and he wanted to groom me into a successful business woman. Now, of course, I know the real reason and that makes the freedom of having no one to lord their power over me, no one to dictate how I should run my business, all the more sweeter.

Thinking about Christian, takes my excitement down a notch. There is no doubt in my mind that when he finds out about this, he will go thermonuclear, Chernobyl Fifty on me. _Who fucking cares, Anastasia?_ My subconscious screams at me. _You're finally gaining your independence from him. You're forging your own path without the taint of his manipulations on it. It doesn't matter what thinks about this. He'll never support you, so stop waiting for his approval. _Is that what I want – Christian's approval? I guess in a way, I do. His moral support and guidance would be welcomed and appreciated. As much as I want to do this all by myself, I'm not a fool. I know having Christian – with his immense knowledge and experience - guiding me through restructuring the company would be remarkable thing. But I'm not fooling myself, there is no way Christian will ever help me; even I'm not that naïve.

As I walk to the parking garage where my car is parked, my mind is on overdrive, forming a to-do list. Contact the bank, find a lawyer… One by one they zip through my mind, distracting me from my surroundings and as I unseeingly step off the sidewalk and into the street a loud horn revives me from my trance.

"Anastasia", I hear my name being called as a firm hand grabs my arm, yanking me out of incoming traffic and back on to the sidewalk. A jittery feeling reverberates through my body and down to my legs making them obsolete. If not for the sure arms, holding me against a solid form, I would be have fallen face down onto the ground. "Are you alright, Anastasia?"

Shaken from my stupor, I look up in search of the voice to find James… Er.. Jamie Harper's hazel eyes worryingly scanning my face. It takes a moment to find my voice, but when I do, it shaky and all I can do is say "James."

"You were almost hit by a car, are you alright?" He asks tenderly and I'm fully aware that his hands are still holding me firmly, our bodies touching. It's been a few weeks since I've seen him, four weeks to be exact, not since Jeremy's birthday party and every time I see him – just like the first time – I have an immediate reaction to him. Oh for Pete's sake. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is it that every time I see him I begin to feel this way? Maybe it's the way he looks at me, as if he's digging deep inside me, searching for something. It could be my imagination. _"Or wishful thinking_", my subconscious, snidely remarks. Oh, shut up. My husband may be a complete asshole, but unfortunately, he's the only asshole for me.

Needing some space, I nudge my hand against his chest and he immediately drops his hands from my arms but keeps his eyes on me. "Yes, I'm fine. I… I didn't see the green light".

"Obviously", he mutters sarcastically. If I wasn't already fully aware of his love for sarcasm, I would've rolled my eyes and walked away. But since meeting him, I've gotten acquainted with it several instances already, I squint my eyes at him in mock derision, trying to hide the small smile playing on my lips. "What were you day dreaming about? Whatever it was, it must have been a hell of a daydream."

"Not a day dream. I… I..", I stutter, feeling my earlier excitement again.

With a large smile and a quirked eyebrow, James eyes me suspiciously, "What?"

"I just bought a publishing company and I'm really happy about it. So happy, it seems, that I almost fucking killed myself," I laugh, the excitement of the day coupled with wild rush of adrenaline from almost getting hit by a car rushing through my veins. "I'm sorry. I'm a little more put together than this. But I'm just really excited about something and I haven't felt this exhilarated in a very long time. You know?"

Standing almost a half foot above me, Jamie gazes down on me with a smile, his hazel eyes bright and I can tell by looking at him, that he understands the way I feel. "I know what you mean," he says. "There's no better feeling in the world than excitement. It looks good on you."

Feeling the flush rushing to my cheeks, I look away briefly from him, taking in the scenery around us. We look odd, standing in the middle of the side walk, a rush of lunch goers whizzing past us. Sheepishly, I meet his eyes and again, underneath them I suddenly feel shy. "Um…" I stammer, pushing my hair behind my ears. "What are you doing around here?"

"My practice is only a few blocks away from here. I was on my way to get some lunch when I saw you almost get mowed over by a car."

"Well, I'm glad that you have such great timing."

"I'm glad I have great timing as well. We wouldn't want anything happening to you," he smiles. "Listen… Um…If you're not in a rush to get out of here, would you care to join me for lunch?"

Looking at my watch, I see that it's only twelve thirty in the afternoon. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and with the excitement still bubbling inside me, I guess a little lunch wouldn't hurt. Plus, the house will be empty until the children get home at three in the afternoon and as much as I feel better than I did this morning, the notion of going back to an empty deserted house just doesn't seem appealing right now. "Sure, why not."

Pleased by my acceptance, James smiles and steers me down the block to a small Greek Restaurant on 55th street. The restaurant is small and quaint; what some would call a hole in the wall, but from the aroma filling the small area, I'm almost positive the food will be exceptional. We're seated in the back of the restaurant, at a small rounded table with blue and white checkered table cloth. The table is set for two and with the white single candle in the middle, it seems almost romantic.

As soon as we're seated, the waitress greets us and fills our glasses with water. James orders a bottle of red wine imported from Greece and I nonchalantly roll eyes as he carefully tastes it before approving. Jeez, is everyone a wine connoisseur all of a sudden?

"To you, Anastasia," he says, lifting his glass, once the waitress has poured our wine and taken our lunch order. Congratulations on your new endeavor,"

With a shy smile, I mouth a thank you before taking a small sip. The wine is delicious. It's fruity and airy and just what I needed.

"This is new for you. Just a few weeks ago, you were looking for position at a publishing house and now you're the owner of one. What changed your mind?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly something I planned. I heard about the opportunity this morning and jumped on it before it was too late. It was really spurred of the moment."

"That's a pretty big decision to make with so little time to think it through," he says, sipping his wine.

"I've thought about it," I snap. "I might've been out of the business for a number of years, but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of making a sound business decision. I ran rather large company, all by myself and I…"

"Wow, wow," he interrupts, taking my hand in is. "Anastasia, I do not doubt your abilities at all. And if it came across as such, then I profusely apologize. That wasn't my intention." His brows are furrowed as he looks at me, the seriousness in his usually buoyant eyes, keeping my attention. "You're an intelligent, capable woman and I have no doubt that your company will be successful. Please, don't doubt that."

Feeling like a fool, I sigh, pulling my hand from his. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I guess I'm a little defensive. Christian won't be too happy about this when he finds out and I suppose I'm just preemptively building my arguments."

"Well, I think your argument is pretty good," he says, topping our glasses. "So, tell me about this new publishing house of yours. What are you going to publish, all that mommy porn stuff that's getting so popular?"

I laugh out load. Not smile, not giggle; but a full on laugh. The sound of it is almost foreign to my ears and as the sound resonates somewhere deep, I realize it's the first time in a long while, I've sincerely laughed.

"No, there will be no mommy porn on my watch," I giggle. "It was initially an independent publisher of children's books, but I envision so much more. The young adults market is big right now – maybe more edgier interesting books."

Over Garlic Feta Fries, Lamb and a bottle and a half of red wine, we talked easily for almost two hours, the conversation flowing from buy RHB to his practice as a Child Psychiatrist, to our children. His gregarious personality is so infectious and I have to wonder how a man like him hasn't remarried already. A part of me has always been curious about the break-up of his marriage. If I had to take a guess, I would say it was incompatibility that eventually came in between them, what with he being so friendly and warm and she being so…cold and aloof. _Wouldn't you say that is your predicament? Isn't it the case in your marriage?_

"Ana, may I ask you something?" James asks, snatching me out of my thought. "It's about Teddy. Jeremy told me something and I didn't really know how to respond."

With the mention of my son's name, my heart begins to beat right out of my chest. "Of course…. What about Teddy?"

"He's been asking Jeremy about mine and Jessica's divorce. Teddy told Jeremy that his dad has moved out and I get the feeling that whatever is going on between the two of you, is really affecting him."

Sitting back in my chair, I inhale a deep breath. This is what I was afraid of. This uncompromising, immoveable standstill we find ourselves in has gone so far, that it is affecting our children so badly, that they have to try and find solace from their friends. "It's true", I admit. "Christian and I have been unofficially separated for almost a year. Because of Christian's hectic schedule, we were able to cover and hide it from the children. He'd come home for dinner, then tuck them in and leave once they're asleep. On the weekends, we'd play nice and fake it for their sake. But, we had a terrible fight a few months back and since then, we haven't been able to be in the same room with each other. And as a result, we had to be honest and tell the kids." Closing my eyes, I push back the tears, refusing to cry. I won't cry; I can't cry. Every day it is the same thing over and over again and I'm sick of it. As much as I want to curl up and cry until every drop of woeful tear has seeped out of me, I can't. My children need me, they are crying out for help and if Christian and I don't want to lose them, we have to stop this shit. "I want them to have their father back, but honestly, I don't know if it will ever happen. I don't know what to do."

Silently taking in my words, James hands me a handkerchief and waits for me to finish before he takes a deep breath. His normally, jovial eyes have dimmed some, replaced by a forlorn look as he listens to me. If anyone knows what I'm going through, it's him and it's a sad prospect because I realize that besides Flynn I have no one to confide in. No impartial party without some kind of interest or motive to keep Christian and me together. Our family has always been close, but they are also very opinionated and I'm afraid letting them in on our problems will only complicate matters. Times like this I really wish Kate hadn't married Christian's brother. In a way, the minute they met, we lost a level of privilege only best friends could have and at a time like this, I miss it so much.

"I don't regret much about my divorce. It was the best decision I've ever made and in the end, it was for the best. But what I do regret," he pauses. "What I would do differently if I had another chance is I would make the divorce as smoother for Jeremy as possible. One morning, my son woke up with his mother and father living together. The next day, his father is jail for attacking his wife's lover and a month later, she's marrying some else and moving across the country." Getting choked up, he stops and after taking a long sip of his wine, he continues, "I don't know what is going on in your marriage, that's your and Christian's business. But I will say, from what I've seen, you're a good mother. Your children are bright, happy well adjusted children. You love your son and what you're doing the best that you can. Take your time Anastasia. Don't rush into anything. Let them get adjusted with the new living situation and whatever you and Christian decide to do, make sure you reassure them. Make sure they know their parents will always be there for them."

"But what if we end up getting a divorce and all they remember is that we lied to them? Will they ever be able to trust us again?

"Divorce makes everyone a skeptic eventually, even children. My son changed, a lot after the divorce. But I think I've earned his trust again by moving closer and showing him I still love him. I don't think we could've rebuilt our relationship if I'd stayed in New York. All you have to do is keeping telling them how much you love them, no matter what."

"I don't want them to lose my kids."

"Then don't lose. You and Christian have to find a way to either work out your problems or try to transition your children into this new live all of you will be leading," he says as he motions to the waitress and hands her his credit card. "I certainly wish Jessica and I had done that."

Looking at my watch, I almost jump out of my skin as I see the time. It's almost three o'clock. I promised the kids I'd be home. "Oh, shit. I have to get going. I promised the kids I'd be home when they get there," I say as I gather my coat and my bag. James quickly jumps to his feet and helps me into my coat. His fingers brush against my neck and for a split second, I freeze. The feeling is warm and inviting and it takes everything I have in me not lean into him and close my eyes. His disposition maybe different from Christian's, but physically, their bodies are similar in height and built. If only just for a few seconds.

"Thank you for lunch, James. I had a really wonderful time," I say as we leave the restaurant and walk towards my car. "I'm glad we were able to talk. It truly helped me."

"I'm glad I was able to help," he offers as I open the car door and enter. As I smile at him and wave, he stops me before I could turn I could turn the ignition. "Before you go, I'd like you to have this." Pulling a small silver case and I pen out of his jacket pocket, he writes something on it before handing it to me. "It's my personal cell phone and home number. You know, just in case you'd like to talk again over lunch or need rescuing." Taking the card from him, I stare at the numbers, trying not to read something inappropriate in such an innocent act.

"I'd like that," I respond quietly, before waving and driving away, going home to my kids. It's okay to have friends, someone to confide in when there's no one else, I tell myself. So what if he's a male, who's nice and kind of cute? _I wonder how Christian will feel about that?_ I've always had male friends. There's nothing wrong with that. _Keep telling yourself th_at. I'm not doing anything wrong. _If you're not doing anything wrong, then why do you feel so guilty?_ I really hate you.

* * *

**Thanks again for all your patience with me. Real life is a real bitch because she doesn't allow me to sit on my butt and just write all day. Anyway, thanks and please review. Tell me what you think. I know a lot of you will. Do you like James? What do you think about him?**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N -** Sorry for the delay. As my friend Lizlemmon would say, this bitch was a fighter. It kept fighting me and wouldn't settle down. I really hope you guys like it and remember, I'm an emotional writer. This all started as a challenge to see if I could put my favorite characters through some really bad things. Keep that in mind. I know my angst lovers won't mind. Thanks to all my the girls on Facebook who are just the greatest. You make this so much fun and you make me want to do this more and more everyday. And to all my fellow writers. I have to say, there are sub spectacular writing going on lately and it inspires me to step my game up. Thanks for all the favorites, reviews and alerts. Please as you know, I do tricks for reviews...lol. I love them. Let me know what you think.

I don't own Fifty Shades...

**Chapter Twelve**

**Christian's POV (4 years prior)**

The first hit catches me by surprise, knocking the wind out of me. For a brief moment, my equilibrium goes off kilter and as my head snaps back violently, a dull ache ricochets across my temple. The second one is just as forceful, coming right behind the first, landing square on the opposite side of my face. If it had been any other person on the receiving end of such blow, it would have rendered them useless or probably unconscious. Not me. I'm a completely different kind of specimen; my body feeds off aggression, absorbing the force right through my skin. The pain wakes me up, sharpens my senses and as a result, I am able to see the next punch coming, ducking underneath the quick jab before it gets the chance to connect.

Bouncing backwards, I eye Claude Bastille closely. His face - like mine- is covered in sweat, his breathing coming quickly. We've been sparring now, for almost two hours, only taking small water breaks in between and despite the additional hour to my workout, my body still isn't satisfied. It needs more. More punches to the face, more kicks to the torso, more of everything. I need my body tired, my lungs on fire, I need any-fucking-thing that can keep me focused; keep me from losing my mind and doing something I know I'll only fucking regret. A steep order I know. But there are only two things that are strong enough to keep me tamed and in check – a long intense session in the playroom, followed by a long hard fuck. Unfortunately, neither one is available at the moment. The one person in the world who has the power to give my body what it needs, can't fucking stand to be in the same room with me, so as a result, I'm forced to improvise and resort to beating the shit out of Bastille and vice versa.

Thank god Bastille was available this morning for an emergency session. If he hadn't been, I'm not entirely sure what I would've done. Last night was particularly rough, more so than usual. Since their return, the nightmares have been especially intense, more vivid than they've ever been. It has only been six months, but since their return, I'm hard pressed to remember what living without them felt like. When lying with my head pressed against Anastasia's breast, her fingers caressing the crease in my spine was all it took to ward them off, sending them back to the hell where they came from. Now, I'm at their mercy. They've sensed her absence and as such, have made their presence known with a vengeance so keen on destruction; they haven't given me one night of reprieve. The children's presence has helped in some ways. On the nights they are with me, the dreams are less terrifying, the desperate screams that usually follow noticeably absent. Perhaps it's my innate desire to protect them from having to see their father reduced to nothing more than a pathetic, terror filled, screaming lunatic. Or it could be my subconscious' way of taunting me, reminding that just beyond my fingertips, clemency exists. That having my children under the same roof with me is just a teaser for what I really want. Anastasia with me. Anastasia loving me. Anastasia devoted to me. And when my children are gone and I'm left alone without their comfort near, with only my resentments and bitterness to keep me company, I am a condemned man – fearful of sleep, fearful of what it may bring.

"Come on, Grey. You need to focus, man. That second shot shouldn't have been able to land," Bastille shouts, his voice muffled by the mouth guard. With quickness and agility, he circles again, his dark eyes trained closely on me as we bounce a comfortable distance from each other.

"Don't fucking worry about it, there won't be a third," I smile before attacking, hitting him unexpectedly with an uppercut to the chin followed by a side hook to the jaw. The feeling of my gloved hand connecting with his face is exhilarating and before he's able to regain his footing, I attack again, raining down a flood of merciless body blows. Pent-up frustration and anger feeds my fury causing a blind rage to overcome me and before I know it every single blow lands more forcefully. Every hit has a meaning behind them and as I let loose on Claude Bastille, my mind no longer sees him. All the red haze of the past year coalesces into a large looming form and all I can do is attack further. Not stopping - not even when my muscles scream out for mercy; not even when the burn in my chest expands all I can do is knock them out each and everyone of my misfortunes, until nothing is left. Distantly, I hear Claude calling me, pushing my body. Shaking my head, I open my eyes and I see him on the ground, his arms raised protectively around his face, while I'm on top of him. Clearing my head I quickly get up. Fuck, not this again.

Trying to slow down my breath, I remove my helmet and mouth guard, extending a helpful hand to Claude. He looks at the hand for a moment, then begrudgingly takes it, his sweaty face set in a scowl. He's pissed.

"What the fuck, Grey?" He barks as he removes his own helmet and mouth guard. He shakes his head, his thick locks pulled back into a ponytail. "Seriously, man, if you're going to continue going off on me like this, I'm going to have to re-think our arrangement." I smirk at him, ignoring his tone. Even though he's trained me for the past ten years, on the occasions that I've bested him, Claude sometimes has trouble accepting it. He doesn't understand the savagery inside me. He doesn't understand that what he's trained for all his life comes naturally for me. I'm a different kind of animal, raised in aggression. I need this for control.

"You're a big boy. I'm sure you can handle it. Besides, I pay you more than enough hazard pay to compensate for any inconvenience."

He laughs as he throws me a bottle of water and a fresh crisp white towel. "Yeah, well my wife isn't feeling the bruised up face and the stiff muscles. I swear, Grey. Whatever is eating you, you have to get it under control. We're supposed to be sparring, yet you're going off as if you're in a bar room brawl."

"If you'd make yourself readily available for me the entire day, I wouldn't have to go off on you when we finally spar. I really wish you'd reconsider my offer," I say as I pack my gear into my gym bag.

"As much as that offer is tempting, I think two hours a day is enough. Besides, if you wear me out and kill me before my time, whose ass will you kick when I'm gone, Taylor's?"

Giving him a small smile, I pull out my Blackberry and send Taylor a text, letting him know I'm ready to head back to the apartment. Normally, my morning routine consists of a five-mile run with Taylor behind, but this morning called for desperate measures.

"Hey, Christian," Claude calls after me as soon as I zip my hoody, and turn to leave. "Can you do me a favor and let Anastasia know that whenever her schedule is set, all she has to do his get back to me?"

At the mention of her name – as with anything to do with her - my heart rate picks up again, thumping loudly, heating my skin. As casually as I can, I lift a brow then ask "Her schedule?"

"Yeah, she left a message for me yesterday, canceling her regular session. She said something about things being hectic and she'll be very busy for awhile and will reach out to me when things are settled."

Hmmm. Interesting. "Of course, I'll relay the message," I smile tightly, draping my gym bag over my shoulder and exiting the dojo with only one thing on my mind. What the fuck is my little Anastasia up to?

A gentle mist greets me as I walk onto the sidewalk, the gray overcast sky matching my even grayer mood. As much as I hate the rain, if saturated in the air just right, the feel of it– after a long session - is usually refreshing, quenching my fevered skin. Not this time. This time it sizzles, steam rising from it and as if he sees it, Taylor immediately jumps out of the awaiting Audi SUV and opens the back passenger door.

"Sir", he greets as he takes the gym bag from my hand.

Before we get into the SUV, I ask, "Has Sawyer sent over Anastasia's and the children's itineraries, yet?" As a safety precaution, it's customary for the security team to keep a detailed itinerary of not only my day, but also that of Anastasia and the children. In my absence, it's become even more essential as a way to keep myself involved, give myself importance. Though it seems, despite my best efforts, my wife has found a way to still get around me.

Shifting slightly, he says "No, Sir. He hasn't."

"Why the fuck not? It's after seven," I yell.

Clearing his throat, Taylor's eyes flit above my head, choosing his words carefully. "The children's schedule is the same as usual – leaving at 7:30 a.m. and back at 3 p.m. But Mrs. Grey hasn't given him her schedule as of yet."

"Did she say why?" I ask clenching my teeth.

"No, she hasn't given a specific reason, Sir."

A knowing feeling sends my focus adrift, tensing my shoulders and stiffening my back. There could be a simple reason why my wife would refuse to do a simple thing she's done everyday since we've been married. Maybe she has no plans for the day, maybe she simply forgot. Or perhaps, as with everything lately, she's doing this to fuck with me. Defiance has been her motivation of late, sticking it to me, finding new ways to ruffle my feathers. So I have no doubt that this little incident is her way of sending a message to me. You would think this appetite she's developed for testing my limits would have diminished some when she saw the ramifications of her actions. But it seems my wife would rather ignore it and feed this questionable need she has to stick it to me and she knows full well in my case, nothing says fuck you like not following security protocol. A-fucking-gain.

"Take me to the house, now," I demand as I get into the back seat of the SUV, feeling my blood boiling. I finished sparring only a few minutes ago and already the tension is rebuilding, tightening my shoulders. Typically, the ease usually lasts throughout the morning and doesn't lift until somewhere in the middle of the afternoon and already it's wearing off. Fucking Anastasia. Only she can do this to me. Only she has the ability to turn my fucking morning upside down without even speaking a single word to her. Fuck!

Without saying a word, Taylor gets into the front seat and turns to face me. "Mr. Grey, of course I'll take you wherever you would like to go. But I have to remind you that you have the 9 a.m. signing with Gallagher this morning. If we go over to the house in this traffic, you won't be able to make it back in time for the start of the meeting." Shit, I've been working tirelessly on the Gallagher deal for almost four months. It has been my one saving grace, keeping me busy, preoccupying almost every waking minute of my life. There's no way I can blow it off.

Letting out a deep breath, I acquiesce. "Fine, take me to Escala. But make sure the team knows to notify me if Anastasia tries to leave the house. I don't give a fuck where I am or what I'm doing; I want to be told immediately. No more fuck ups and if she tries to leave on her own, make sure they follow her." With a quick nod, Taylor turns around and starts the car, pulling into the morning traffic.

The entire ride back to Escala, my mind is in constant motion, trying to decipher Anastasia's message to Claude and her actions this morning. Things are hectic; she'll be busy for a while. Busy doing what? What the fuck does that mean?

According to the daily reports I get from Ryan, besides a few play dates after school with Teddy's friend, her appointments with Flynn and Claude and a few lunch dates with Kate or my mother, she rarely leaves the house, typically spending her days hidden away in the library doing god knows what. Besides her little stunt last week, when she fucking ignored my instructions and went off on her own downtown without security, she's been quiet, only calling me when it directly involves the children and sometimes refusing to acknowledge me when I drop by in the evenings to see the children. She's still pissed at me for the way I reacted over her complete disregard for her safety. I could give two shits if she's pissed at me or if her feelings are hurt. I don't care what's going on between us, she's still my wife and therefore, she's still a target for kidnapping or worse. If the Jack Hyde incident has taught me one thing, it is to protect my family at all cost and not to compromise on that.

Of course, Anastasia sees it differently. She calls me unreasonable and calls me a stalker, twisting my concern for her safety into some kind of sinister plot to control her and to keep her under my thumbs. _Well, isn't it? Isn't that what you've been doing this entire time; consistently invading her privacy, paying your so-called security team to watch her every move and report it back to you?_

I won't apologize for needing to know what is happening in my family's life. Anastasia hasn't been exactly forthcoming and if it weren't for my so-called "stalker tendencies" I wouldn't know half the shit she's pulled since we've been separated. She still hasn't been forthcoming regarding her little excursion downtown last week. When Ryan called me to report that Anastasia had left the house without security, I was in Colorado along with Taylor and my parents for the day, visiting a Clinic that specializes in a new promising Breast cancer trial and was unable to handle the matter immediately. The idiots allowed her to leave and didn't have the foresight to follow her and I had to rely on the GPS tracker to determine where she had gone. We were able to pinpoint the area where she parked her car for well over four hours and after Welch did a quick scan of the area which houses many businesses, there was only one address that caught my eye – RHB publishing. It is the place that makes the most sense and it is the one place in which I have no idea why Anastasia would visit. It couldn't possibly be for a job since the fucker is only days away from filing for Bankruptcy. What the fuck could it be? I hate being left in the dark, not knowing. I feel impotent and the lack of control only serves to push me closer to the edge.

Before Taylor could properly come to a full stop and park inside the Escala parking garage, I am out of the SUV, walking towards the elevator. As if sensing my impatient mood, the elevator doors open immediately and I walk in with Taylor following close behind. As always, he keeps quiet the entire ride and moves to the side as I march resentfully out of the elevator and through the foyer, my eyes trained ahead, not daring to look anywhere else.

I hate this fucking place. In the years I'd lived here - before Anastasia - it had been the only place I'd ever considered home. It was the one place I'd carved out for myself, unashamedly displaying my dark soul and indulging in unquestionable debauchery. Now, like everything else in my life, it serves as a reminder of what I'm missing. This place, with its cold sterile walls, filled with expensive art, is too quiet; it isn't my home. My home is ten miles away, filled with the colorful laughter of my children and the warmth of my wife. That is where I belong.

Walking through the vast emptiness towards my bedroom, the silence kills my ears as it does every time I walk in alone, anticipating something that won't be there. Every room is haunted by memories. Ghostly figures move about replaying scenes from the last seven years and every sleepless night, with a glass of scotch in my hand, I sit and I watch and I suffer, reliving each moment until the sun comes up. If I'm lucky, I can relive the happier times. But on the days when my heart is heavy and the agony of not being with my family is too much, the happier times elude me. They hide in the crevices of the past and all I am left with is an abundance of shitty memories I'd like to forget. Memories of my time before Anastasia, before my children, before my absolution and as much as I'd like to ignore them and pretend they never happened, they refuse to be denied and then I'm reminded of why I deserve to be alone.

_As much as you'd like to forget your past, you can't. It's a part of who you are. This where it all began; this is where you belong, alone surrounded by all the spirits you've broken; all the lives you've ruined. _Ah, there he is my one friend, my true companion. Always in the back of my head wishing me well.

Shaking my torturous thoughts, I disrobe and jump into the shower quickly, keeping my time at a minimum. Two slick bodies engrossed in each other share the space with me and it takes everything in me not fucking scream. Turning on the hot water, I let it spill through my hair, over my face and down my body. I wait for salvation to return, a little respite. But it doesn't. I'm still hollow. Still empty. Still without mercy.

I'm sick of this shit. I'm sick of living this way. I miss her terribly. I miss our intimacy; not just sexually. But in that personal connection that always transcends the physical. Our flirtatious emails and phone calls proved our connection was more than just sex. They were the highlight of my day. Now, there is nothing but a static nothingness. Those little intimate moments we once shared are no longer the norm and every time I see her name flash across my phone or an email waiting impatiently in my inbox, my heart beats a little faster, only to slow in disappointment as I read her terse words or hear the distance in her voice and the shit just pisses me off. It pisses me off because I know this entire shitty situation could've been avoided, it could've ended a long time ago if only Anastasia would just let go of this ridiculous grudge she's been holding on to and let me come home. _Maybe she doesn't want you anymore. She knows what kind of loathsome bastard you are and she's told you to your face. It's time for you to accept it._

Leaning against the wet marble, I feel my legs weaken as the heat from the water, beats down against my skin and seeps into my overused muscles. I close my mind, ignoring the irritating jabbing, but unfortunately it morphs into the voice of my nightmares and I cringe as I hear her inside my head. "_I'm not your crack whore mother. I actually love my children. I wouldn't sit there and let them get hurt and abused."_

For the past six months, her words have starred in my dreams, replaying in the background just as the butt of the cigarette would sear my skin. I would open my mouth, letting out a bloodcurdling plea, hoping it is loud enough for the Crack Whore to hear. As he continues to burn my young skin and as his phlegm-ridden laughter mixes with my screams, the Crack whore finally stirs, opening her clear blue eyes, clarity brimming from them. She doesn't speak, she doesn't move. She just sits there on the filthy brown couch and watches silently as her pimp tortures and abuses her four year-old son. I scream for her to help me, I plead for her to make him stop and just as my screams hits the top of my lungs, just as the torture pierces something sacred inside, I hear Anastasia's voice, whispering softly in my ear– almost like a lullaby. At first it calms me, blotting out the pain and as assuredly as if it was made from the searing tip of a cigarette butt, her words finally reach me. Wrapped up inside her sweet, breathy cadence, they slither off her tongue – _She's watching you burn_, she would point out. _She hears your screams, she knows how much pain you're in and yet, she does nothing to stop him. She didn't want you, she never loved you – no one can ever love you_.

Hearing the person you love most in the world give voice to every hateful, disgusting thing you've ever thought of yourself, brings a whole new dimension of terror that stays with you no matter how hard you try to dispel it. Tattooing its self in permanent ink, stretching malignantly across your soul and no matter how many times they try to recant it, no matter how much they try to reassure you, the damage has already been done. The bell has been wrung and there's no taking it back.

That is why I've kept my distance from her. That is why despite how much I miss her, despite how miserable I am without her, I've stayed away; punishing her with my absence, refusing to apologize for my behavior and move on from this hell. Try as I might, I can't seem to get her voice out of my head or forget the way she looked at me that night. Through her, my worst fears were manifested and the tiny part of me that always knew the crack whore didn't give a shit about me, the part that knew I don't deserve to be loved, feels vindicated and I hate that of all the people who could have done it, it was Anastasia who made it true.

Flynn has claimed that holding on to this bitterness is counter-productive to my real desires and if I truly love Anastasia and my children as much as I say I do, and want to be with them, how can I continue on like this? I couldn't give him an answer sturdy enough to uphold my actions, so in response, I walked out of our session and haven't returned since.

That's where I am. Stuck between my insatiable love for her and my ever-growing bitterness against her. A complete paradox. Both sides battling for dominance – each taking turn as the victor. I haven't laid eyes on her in two weeks. She hasn't sought me out. Her life is busy, too hectic for me it seems. She's too preoccupied with living without me, moving on, continuing, while I'm stuck in time, reliving, obsessing and hating. It seems bitterness is the victor today.

Turning off the water, I get out of the shower and manage to shave and get dressed quickly, in a customary charcoal suit and white button up front shirt and black tie, without frustration hurling a glass, a lamp or a mirror across the bedroom. I'm sure Mary – a British, ex-nanny, Gail hired when the children started staying with me on the weekends – will be pleased by this. She's gotten wary of my dark moods and violent outbursts, timidly walking around, avoiding me at all cost. If not for the constant security and the children's presence on the weekends, I get the feeling she would've quit a long time ago.

"Good Morning, Mr. Grey," Mary greets as I walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Her generous mouth is spread into a smile, but it doesn't carry the same weight as it does for everyone else and for some reason, that bothers me. She's the same age as Gail, but carries herself much older, always wearing her graying auburn hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, usually no make-up.

Only because my children like her and I don't have the patience to find another housekeeper, I greet her with a smile. "Good morning, Mary."

"An egg white omelet for breakfast this morning, Mr. Grey?" She asks, succinctly, professionally.

"Not this morning. I'll have something at the office," I answer. "I'll be home late this evening, so there's no need to worry about dinner.

"As you wish, Sir. I'll make sure to leave a sub or something light for you when you get home." Smiling tightly, I run my hand through my hair then turn to leave.

"Oh, Mr. Grey, I know Teddy won't be visiting this weekend, but will Phoebe? I promised I would make my chocolate pudding and leave it for her, before I left for the weekend."

Turning to face her abruptly, my face set in a scowl, I bark, "Of course both Teddy and Phoebe will be here for the weekend. Why would you think otherwise?"

Standing before me, visibly shaken, Mary silently stares at me. "Well", I yell.

"Um..Um..Theodore mentioned something about going to a baseball game this weekend with his Mother and his little friend. It was in passing, Sir. He must've been mistaken."

Feeling my jaw compress on its self, I can only stare at Mary in disbelief. Before I can say anything, Taylor calls from the foyer, "Sir".

"What?" My eyes still pinned on Mary.

"If we're to make it to Grey House for your meeting, we need to leave soon" he offers. I have a feeling this reminder is more Mary's benefit, than mine.

"Yes, he was mistaken. They both will be here this weekend. Please, make your pudding for Phoebe. I'm sure she'll love it." I manage to get out, storming out of the kitchen, my heart pounding outside of my chest again as I leave the kitchen, signally to Taylor to follow behind me and into the elevator.

Silently, we drive out of the garage towards Grey House and my anger is as high as it's ever been. It's as if I hadn't seen Claude this morning. I can't believe her. After everything she's done, kicking me out, refusing to allow me back into my own home, she's trying to keep me away from my own children. I've missed so much time, missed so many little things I'd taken for granted while living with them. Like evening dinners, hearing about their days or watching television as Phoebe curls her up on my lap, snuggling her tiny body against my chest. Or like clockwork, after I'd retire to my study to finish some mundane office work, Teddy would follow me and take up space at the little desk beside mine, watching my every move, mimicking everything it did. Having my children's constant love and presence heals makes this entire thing bearable and now she wants to take that way. No. No. Fucking way.

"Taylor, forget Grey House. I need to speak with Anastasia, right now. Take me to the house, now."

Glancing through the rearview mirror, Taylor meets my eyes. Seeing my serious expression, he nods and makes a turn, heading towards the I-5 exit.

For the first time in my adult life, I've missed a meal and the bile coating my stomach, eating away at the lining serves as a reminder of that. But I ignore that fact, choosing instead to focus on the matter at hand – Anastasia's behavior; Anastasia's lack of regard for me; Anastasia's lack of respect. Today they will be rectified this.

As Taylor punches in the security codes to the gate and we drive up through the tree-lined driveway, I can almost feel a sliver a tension leave my body. The meadow sits undisturbed, filled with so many happy memories, the sight is almost blinding, causing me to look away. We were once happy here. Our future bright, full of hope, beyond my belief. She made me a believer, even when I knew better. How could something so right, go so wrong?

Getting out of the SUV, I am immediately greeted by both Ryan and Reynolds, who are both surprised by my impromptu visit. They kiss every inch of my ass, still trying to make up for their fuck-up, but I don't give a shit. My mind has already traveled inside, trying to get a bead on her whereabouts. Perhaps she's still in bed or just getting out of the shower. _You should be so lucky_. A man can only wish.

Strikingly, as I enter the house, the anger that raged bright just a few moments ago, has now dimmed, muted by a peaceful force more powerful than my anger. My home; where I belong. My nose tickles as the familiar scent leads me through the foyer, the living, stopping briefly in the kitchen. A cup of tea sits lonely on the counter. I pick it up, taking a sip. It's lukewarm on my lips, but it is her tea and it reminds me of her, so I don't mind it at all.

Without having to search, I know she's in the library. Walking over to the door, I hold on to the doorknob for a fraction of a second, listening to the echo of my heart as it drums at a slow, deliberate pace. This is the first time it has beaten this slowly all morning and I pray it will keep that way for the remainder of the day. I can only hope.

Pushing door open, I take in a sharp breath, her delicate features shocking me as it does every time I see her. Even in the muted light, she shines, an extraordinary light bouncing around her and as if it senses me, it pulls me in. Startled, she looks up, her large blue eyes, trapping me.

"Christian." My name leaving her lips is almost breathless and although I know it's only in surprise, it still wobbles my knees.

"You seem surprised to see me," I answer, walking into the library, closing the door behind me. She cocks her head to the side, watching closely, observing as I take off my jacket and survey the room. She's changed some things around. The couch is gone, I see. And the desk she rarely ever uses, has been moved to the center of the room with two crème colored arm chairs directly in front of it. Almost like an office, it seems.

"Of course I'm surprised to see you. It's 9 o'clock in the morning. You should be at work. Is everything alright?"

Turning to face her, I catch her eyes surreptitiously traveling from my face all the way down the length of my body and as her eyes darken, I can't help the flit of smugness from appearing on my face. At least I'm not the only one who's been hard up. Fleetingly, I vision of her body naked, wrapped crip white sheets, her small hands traveling down her flat stomach, all the way down to her slick wet core; feeling the heat and thinking of me, thinking of only me.

"Christian?" She says my name again and this time, the breathy quality isn't there. As the thrill of seeing her wears off, I examine her closely for the first time and I'm aghast by what I see. She's still beautiful of course, but knowing every curve and crevice of Anastasia body, the slight hollowness in cheeks doesn't miss me. Or the way her eyes are set even larger and more pronounced in her small face. I wouldn't say I'm ecstatic that our separation has affected her, but in a way small quiet way, I'm glad. It shows she still cares; it shows my absence is wearing on her. I'm not the only one. But nonetheless, she has to take care of herself.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Anastasia. You've lost far too much weight and from the look of things, you're not resting enough." I say moving across the room and taking one of the seats across from her.

For a split second, her mouth drops open, before closing and then I see something scorching radiating from her eyes. "I'm sure you didn't come all the way over here to reprimand me about my eating and sleeping habits." There is a sort of arrogance in the way she addresses me; a sort of goading and with that, I remember why I'm here. My temper flares again. "What do you want, Christian?" Oh, what a loaded question. Oh, what do I want? If she really knew what I want to do with that smart mouth of hers, it would scare her. At the moment, the visidual is fucking scaring me.

"Several things, actually," I begin. "Can you tell why my son believes he will not be visiting me this weekend?"

Sighing, she leans back in her chair, a tendril of chestnut silk falling over her shoulders. She pushes it away and clasps her hands in her lap. "I was going to call you about that this afternoon, but I got side tracked."

I look down at the interesting mounds of paperwork littered across her desk, her laptop opened in front of her. She notices my line of vision and her mouth twitches nervously. "So I see"

"Jamie, I mean...Ah.. Dr. Harper, invited Teddy to a baseball game with him and Jeremy on Saturday. Teddy really wants to go with his friend and I thought since it was an early game, that perhaps he could go to the game and then I can drop him off to the apartment once we're finished."

Sitting up straight, I ask. "We're?"

"Yes. Phoebe would like to go. I thought it would be easier for everyone and security of course, if I went them."

My stomach boils into a fervor, the acid rancor eating away at the lining as a picture of my wife and children with Dr. Harper at a Mariners game tortures my mind. I picture them laughing, a picturesque family and the thought is enough to illicit violence. Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? Taking my son to a baseball game. I take my son to baseball games. He isn't without a father, he has one and I've done everything in my power to make my children know that I'm still their dad. What the fuck is she doing?

"You are aware that due to this ridiculous situation, I only get to spend any significant time with my children during the weekends?" She rolls her eyes. "Don't fucking roll your eyes at me, Anastasia."

"It's only a few hours with his friend, Christian. It's not a big deal."

"A few hours that I won't be spending with my children is a big fucking deal. If they want to go to a game, then I'll take them to a game and that's that."

"Then what about Jeremy? The whole point of the outing was for them to be together?"

"I'll bring him a long with me." I concede. Whatever my son wants my son gets. Plus, I'll have box seats, maybe arrange for the boys to meet some of the players. It will be much more memorable than sitting in the nosebleeds with that fucker Harper. I don't know what his intentions are, but I'm starting to feel uncomfortable with him being around Anastasia and my son. It seems the Doctor may know more about our marital problems than I thought and I don't fucking like it.

"Fine," she answers petulantly, crossing her arms at her chest. "Is that it?"

The daring tone again. "Since you seem to be begging me to bring it up, I'll ask. Why did you neglect to give your schedule to the security staff this morning?"

"I had no intention of leaving the house today and felt there was no need to report anything to security. In the future, if I do feel there is a need to report something, I will gladly do so. Otherwise, if I were you, I would get use to not getting these daily reports you're so fond of." She declares. As she finishes, there is a proud glimmer in her eyes, as if she practiced this little speech and is proud of herself for managing to get it out. Too bad for her, it's no fucking good and I'm not buying it.

"That is how I keep you and the children safe, Anastasia."

"No, Christian," she protests. "That is how you spy on me. That is how you keep tabs on me, knowing every single detail about my life while you're out there doing god knows what. Do you know how it makes me feel? I feel like a prisoner in my own home."

"You're not a prisoner. I've never treated you as such. All of this is merely a precaution. I've always respected your boundaries." _Liar_

She laughs. Not her usual jovial one, but snide cynical one. "After everything you've done this past year, you're going to sit there and talk about boundaries. Hacking into my emails…"

"Anastasia, please. I didn't come here to rehash old news."

"And that's the problem, Christian. It isn't old news. It's very much relevant to me. It maybe old news to you, but for me, it's all I can think about. You claim to love me, yet you don't respect me enough to explain yourself. Why would you sell Greys behind my back? Why would you bribe companies just so they wouldn't hire? Why is it so important that I don't work Christian? I need to know."

The desperation in her eyes is calling to me on a level nothing has ever done before. I don't think I've ever seen them so weakened, so vulnerable, even in her most innocent state. Not even when I first showed her my Red Room, when she'd never seen anything quite like it and didn't know what I had expected of her. When she looked at me then, I saw shock, fear, nervousness. But never desperation. Not like this. She's calling for me. She needs something from me. I'd promised her a long time ago that I would take care of her, protect her and I'm doing the opposite.

I hear a gentle sob. I look up and I see her bite her lip and nothing more comes out. It seems the gentle nudge has somehow pushed them back. Sitting up straight, she looks at me again. "It's because you don't respect me", she answers her own question quietly. "You feel as if you can do whatever you want and damned the consequences. Anastasia will take it. Anastasia will do as I as say. Well I'm not taking it anymore."

Hiding the pain behind my anger, I get up from the chair and turn my back on her. The acid is high, coating my entire stomach and it takes every ounce of strength not to topple over. The feeling is unsettling. I haven't had this kind of pain since I was little, not since Grace saved me, not since the Crackwhore. Balling my hands into tight fists, pain infusing my temper, I turn to Anastasia, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, until you decide to be more forthcoming about everything you've done, treat me as your equal and put some effort into changing your ways, I have no intention of following any of your rules. I don't want to live my life like that more. I did it for eight years and look where it's gotten me? As much as you want things to go back to the way they were, I don't Christian. I don't want to be your submissive." Her words aren't venomous, or spiteful or even angry. But they pact a punch, hitting me square in the chest as if they had been riddled with the spit of a cobra.

"Is that what you think I want you to be – my submissive?" I ask, my voice soft. _Why are you asking her when you know the answer? You've always wanted her to be your submissive_. No, I've always loved her independent nature. _You told yourself you loved her despite it, but deep down your true nature wanted to break her. _ No, I love Anastasia, just the way she is. _You wanted to conquer her_. No. _Bend her to your will. _ No_. Yes. You can deny it as much as you want, but it's still the truth. _

Her gaze is sorrowful as she looks at me. Being at the brunt end of all her pain, her accusations, brings an all new sense of self-loathing and the absolute condemnation makes me turn away from her, choosing to focus on the tiny rivulets of raindrops slipping against the window instead. The room is still, neither one of us making a sound, my unanswered question still resounding loudly. A few weeks, days, even a few minutes ago, my temper would've gotten the better of me and would've demanded her answer. But I don't know if I want the answer. Is that how I've treated her? It seems she's lived with this impression stamped in her brain for so long, it has metastasized, impairing her vision, warping her perception of our entire relationship and now I wonder if she will ever see our relationship clearly? How could she believe I could see her as anything other than the savior that she is? Even in my bitterness, I can't deny the truth, I'm no fool; Anastasia saved me and for that reason alone, I will worship at her temple. How can she not see that she is the one who has all the power? Her absence has hollowed me, made me even lesser of man than I was before her and with one word, she can destroy me completely. My issues were never about her being subservient to me. It isn't she who is unworthy, the lower half in this relationship, it is me. It is me who is unworthy of her love.

"When we first got married and we had Teddy, everything was so overwhelming," she begins, startling me out of thoughts. I turn around slowly, afraid to look at her. But as she comes into view, my body instantly relaxes. There is a quiet assurance to her. It's as if she's having communion with herself or priest, so I listen closely, not moving, not breathing not missing a thing. "In the course of a year, everything changed for me. This large, wide tornado swept into my life, uprooted everything that was Anastasia Steele and gave her a new life. I was so scared. But you were there for me, I looked to you and you showed me the way. I depended on you so much those first few years. My entire existence depended on being the perfect wife and mother, wanting to prove to you that you made the right decision by choosing me. That you weren't missing anything by giving up your lifestyle. But what you've done, have made me re-think our entire marriage and I realize, that all I was doing was working overtime to please you. That my whole life revolved around making YOU happy and nothing else. So, yes Christian. I may not have signed your submissive contract, but your actions have proven to me that what you really want is a submissive. You haven't changed. You've just redirected your sexual needs and now it's all about controlling me and everything I do and I allowed you to do it."

"No. That's absurd. Anastasia, I don't want to control you. I just… I don't want to… Fuck!" I let out, feeling frustration bubbling in my stomach again. Why didn't I eat something this morning? Why didn't I prepare for this? My body is too weak to withstand such emotions, it doesn't know how to cope.

"How can you say you don't want to control me? It seems, the longer we've been married, the tighter you've pull the noose around my neck. The Christian I married wouldn't have done the things you've done. He used to believe in me. He used to tell me how smart I was. He made me believe in myself. This Christian – the Christian you've become - has done nothing but make me doubt myself. You are not the man I married."

"Well, you aren't exactly the girl who fell into my office all those years ago, are you? Where is she, Anastasia? Where did she go?"

Without skipping a beat, she slowly rises from her chair around the desk her face not foretelling her feelings. With soft cold hands, she takes my burning one in hers and says, "You're right, I'm not that girl who fell into your office all those years ago. That girl has gotten married, she's given birth, ran her own company. She's seen and done things she's never thought she'd ever see or do. She's more open, more confident. She has dreams and she believes in herself. The girl, who fell into your office, doesn't exist anymore. I haven't been her in quite some time and I like who I am now. All I want is for you to like her too, because you've helped her to become who I am. If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be the woman standing in front of you. You helped me to see who I really am inside. Please don't ask me to give it up?"

There are times when you have to stop, step back and assess a situation. Taking your time to examine it from all angles, before reacting. Whenever presented with a problem, that's what I've done - that's what has always gotten me through. On the one hand, the bitterness inside, the part that blames her for everything, wants to push her away. More strongly and more determinedly than that, the part that loves her beyond my fifty shades, wants to sacrifice my pride, my ego, my fears, my wants, my love everything, I have and lay them at her feet. I can keep living in hell or I have my heaven. Which one will I choose?

Pulling my hand out of her grasp, I brush the softness of her lower lip with my thumb, her eyes closing at the contact. My breath hitches as I feel her heat emanating so close to me, breathing fire, scorching my already heated skin. "I love the person you are, Anastasia. I miss you so much."

I don't know what those words mean to her, but as soon as they are out of my mouth, she lunges at me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. Her tongue immediately intrudes my mouth, aggressively tasting, craving so much. It takes just a few moments to gather my wits and just as they come, I feel the starved barbarian, that's been dormant for so long, coming to life. It only takes just a drop. Just a little taste of her and already he's demanding what he's been denied. He's taken over my hands, my mouth- my entire body. He's saying crude things, grabbing her ass, ripping her shirt – devouring her. His touches aren't savoring, they aren't reverential. They are fevered and clumsy and rushed and as much as I would've liked our first time together - in over a year - to be slow, steady and deliberate. He screams - _fuck the slow and steady _– in my head and urges me on to feel everything. I want my lungs on fire; I want my muscles aching, I want to be consumed by her, I want everything. She is my Master and that's all there is.

"I want you," I pant, between fevered kisses. She grunts deep in her chest in response. I take it as an affirmative.

Somewhere in the far reaches of my brain, an incessant ring permeates the air. She breaks her lips from mine, disconnecting my life line. "I have to get that."

"No, please. Let it ring," I beg, searching for her lips.

"No. I can't, Christian. I think it's Mia. I was on the phone with her before you came. She wanted the recipe for Gail's puree carrot and peas for the twins. They won't eat any of the bottled foods and I told her how much the kids loved it."

Sighing, I release her. If only for my baby sister. "Fine."

Surprisingly, she quickly pecks me on the cheek before lowering her skirt and adjusting her torn shirt. Smiling shyly, she answers the phone, "Hello. Hey, Mia. Yes, I found it. It's pretty easy, actually," she speaks rapidly, as she blushes at me. She smiles shyly again before leaving the library and I can't help mimicking the same shy smile. Everything seems so old and new as I stand alone, waiting for my wife. I'm almost afraid to move a muscle. Today has certainly developed a lot differently than I'd expected.

For the first time in nearly a year, I'm actually hopeful, maybe this it. Maybe this is the breakthrough we've been waiting for. I can only hope. Taking in a deep cleansing breath, I feel it traveling through my body as I walk the length of the library stopping at her desk. There are a few framed pictures, most of them old, some new. The new ones hurt the most. My absence screams at me and what's worse, they look happy in them. No. No. Not wanting to go down that road, I place the frame down, setting it back in its place.

Moving away from the desk, I stop in my tracks, as a stack of papers catches my eye. I'm frozen, stuck in place, feeling the blood completely drain from my face. The tension is re-building, replacing the surrender that had just taken place. Not giving a fuck, I pick up the papers and read each word closely, absorbing them quickly, flitting through each page. They are stacks and stacks of familiar words and by the time I'm finished, I feel myself burning inside.

"Hey, so I was thinking that maybe we could surprise the kids and you could stay for din…,", she says, stopping as soon as she sees my face. As if in slow motion, her eyes slowly travel from my face, stopping at the papers in my hands. I watch as my Anastasia swallows audibly, then blanches without saying a word. I wait for her. I wait for her to tell me what she's been doing, but as she stands and blinks rapidly, swallowing for god knows how many times, I get the feeling that I have begin.

"What the fuck is this?"

She swallows again. "I..I..I was going to tell you about it."

"That's not what the fuck I asked you, Anastasia. What the fuck . Is. This?" I grit out. She swallows again, her eyes widening. She catches herself, then inhales.

"Since no one would hire me, I figured I would start my own company." She smiles. Not seeing the humor in it, I give her my steely eyes, squinting just a bit.

"And the name? Steele Publishing?" The way her face twitches tells me everything I need to know. It wasn't just a name she's chosen out sentiment. It was a declaration, a statement and most of all, it was a big fuck you all directed at me. This was what this has all been about. Her misbehaving, her defiance, her running all over the place in secrecy without security. This is what she's been hiding.

"I couldn't exactly name it Grey Publishing, now could I?" She shrugs, walking away.

"And why not? Grey Publishing no longer exists?"

"Exactly, Christian," she yells from across the room. "Grey publishing doesn't exists, because you sold it. I started my own company because you sold the one I owned and you've successfully stopped me from working anywhere else."

Forced by my anger, I find myself only inches away from her. Where only moments ago, we were in a heated embrace, our lips locked, this time it is our horns. Our fevered yearning has now been replaced by anger. "Started? You bought a fucking company that hasn't been in the black since Teddy was born. Who makes such a foolish decision just to spite their husband? Any idiot who knows how to read a spread sheet can tell this was a stupid investment. Is this how you spend my money?"

Her face is frozen in place, stilled in shocked silence. Even I'm shocked by the way I've spoken to her. "I did not spend a dime of your fucking money. I spent the proceeds from the Grey Publishing sale. You're the one who said that it was my money."

Walking inches from her face, I hover above her, my nose almost touching hers. She tries to get away, but I only move closer, our bodies a hair's length apart. There is a need in me to intimidate, to threaten, to frighten her. "You mean the money you so promptly told me to shove up my ass. The money you said I should keep because it is nothing more than blood money. That money, Mrs. Grey? It seems it is only our money, when it only suit your needs." I cannot stop myself. No matter how hard I try to fight the bitterness, it fights back just a little harder. It creeps into my belly and prods the acid. It goes into my head and resurrects all she's said in my nightmares. It sings her voice in my ears and it continues until a wickedness grows and reaches out for her.

"I can take this all away from you if I want, you know" I breathe close to her lips. The temptation to kiss them is strong, but for the first time, my bitterness is stronger. Her lips quiver, I smile and wait for her tears to fall. "One simple phone call is all it will take and then you'll have nothing." I wait and I wait and I wait. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, doesn't look away. All I'm left with is her static breathing and the pounding of my runaway heart. Her eyes glasses over and I instantly feel the pull of something nasty at my heart. The bastard inside doesn't care, though. He's washes himself in triumph and glories in her pain and as the part of me that loves her more than my own life hangs his head down in shame, the bastard rears his head and says, "As we discussed, my children will be with me, every single weekend. There will be no exception. Have them ready, on Friday."

Again, no reaction. Not a word, not a sound – just her breath coming short and fast. But what catches my attention, what makes this quietness different, are her eyes. They are bright and clear and steely. Something shines behind them, a confidence borne out of sheer determination. Through gritted teeth, with a voice I've never heard before, Anastasia says. "Do not come back to this house again. Sawyer or Taylor will bring the children to you on the days we've agreed on. I'm done. I'm fucking done with you. And the next time you come back without calling first, I will have security kick your ass out of this house. Now get the fuck out." Without even looking back, my wife storms of the library and slams the door behind her. I look down at myself, my dress shirt hanging open, my anger dripping away. So close. So close. I've broken something today. I know I've crossed a sacred line; damaged something irreparable. I told myself not to move. I told myself not move.

* * *

A/N - That was kind of rough, right? If I hadn't written this, I would be booting up the computer and rage on whoever wrote the shit above. But keep the faith... I think. Also, next chapter, will answer questions about Grace and the rest of the family. Thanks again and please review


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